Oliver Wood and the Muggleborn's Wand
by SSJ-Alhazred
Summary: BOOK 7 SPOILERS. Oliver Wood loves Katie Bell more than anything, and during the battle, they make a great team...but when she falls to a Death Eater, how hard will it be to move on after the war is over?
1. Unforgivable

**Oliver Wood and the Muggleborn's Wand**

_Alhazred - ssjDOTAlhazredDOTgmailDOTcom_

_Not For Profit work. Harry Potter and related materials © J.K. Rowling._

If there was one thing Oliver Wood did not expect about becoming a soldier, it was how well his years of Quidditch would prepare him for it. It wasn't anything as menial as the physical conditioning; sure, he was stronger and faster than a good portion of the "army" defending Hogwarts by mere virtue of being an athlete. The rigors of training with a professional team who pushed him harder than he'd ever pushed the Gryffindors just added to it.

No, that wasn't it. Oliver may have been the consummate jock, but he was no fool.

He could see that everyone around him, from the Order of the Phoenix to the seventh-year students, easily compensated for their supposed lack of athleticism with their hearts and the sheer will to fight. Such was the strength of Harry Potter; the ability to inspire "mere" students to feel on top of the world against overwhelming odds. Such was the strength of finding something worth dying for; a purer motivation than being pushed forward by the threat of the Dark Lord using unforgivable curses as punishment.

The advantage Oliver had was far more subtle. It was like some mystical gift of Quidditch, no different than a charm to make one's muscles contract and relax faster than normal. Instead of a charm, it was simple discipline. Years balancing on a broom in such fierce competition gave him improved reflexes, and the time spent watching a whole field tracking ten things at once gave him a heightened sense of his surroundings. Indeed, the inability to perceive more than what was directly in front of their eyes was a weakness even many veteran wizards shared, if they'd never learned the value of situational awareness.

It already saved him from getting biffed by curses or hexes twice now. Curses that were less than half a second away from hitting him, that he'd barely, _barely_ seen coming out of the corner of his eye, that he hadn't so much dodged as he'd simply moved away from, making the same kind of shifts in his weight as he would to handle his broom. It was faster like that, as opposed to hurling oneself as hard as possible in a direction. Much more precise, too; firing off a counterattack after a near miss was so much easier, and so much more effective, when he didn't have to regain his balance and stop flailing his arm to point his wand. The enemy was always lax when they watched dust explode from the wall, even if it was _next_ to someone's face, it could take anyone a second to catch on that they'd missed.

Given what Death Eaters might do to someone disabled by their myriad of nasty spells, Oliver was pretty sure that his Quidditch-Sense had not only saved him from the particular spells shot at him, but had saved his life, as well. The next logical step from that was obvious; he was going to save as many lives as possible. There were two ways of doing that; backing up anyone who needed it, or advancing on Death Eaters and doing his part to thin their numbers.

Right now, Oliver was doing neither, and it made him more than a little annoyed. He could _hear_ the sounds of battle reverberate through the cool night are and off the walls of Hogwarts, occasionally he could make out frantic incantations and the various sounds of spells streaking through the air. Frustrated, Oliver tried to figure out how, during such a huge battle, the vague echoes were the only indication he had that anything was wrong. How could he simply try to find the action and just _fail_ miserably, reduced to treading the corridors like some useless...useless...

_No, don't think about 'useless Squibs,' Oliver, you're not an 'effing Death Eater! Kate would be ashamed of you, thinking pureblood pride means a damn!_

Oliver was already ashamed of himself for other things, though. Glancing back at the girl, the _woman_ walking in step with him, he received nothing but a smile. He knew the smile was forced, that Katie was similarly adapted to stress like this from her own Quidditch playing and she was smiling to make herself feel better more than anything. Still, he appreciated the effort and smiled right back, thinking of the kiss they'd shared, not their first kiss but by far the best when the Death Eaters had raided the little wizard hostel on the outskirts of London.

Katie was on their list, being a Muggle-born and all. The Dark Lord's men had kicked the door in the Muggle way; the better to startle everyone inside. They'd fought back, Oliver no longer able to pretend that he could get away with thinking of Voldemort as having nothing to do with him and letting others handle the situation. They'd fought back, less than sixty seconds after he'd asked Katie to marry him.

And now they were fighting again, not as official members of the Order of the Phoenix, but it didn't really matter. Experiencing the new regime first-hand changed Oliver's opinion. Until then, he'd convinced Katie that they were better off staying safe and trying to go on with their lives, they could always go abroad if need be. It wasn't their fight; they were just Quidditch players who'd never really mattered much to Harry Potter when they were still at Hogwarts.

Not anymore. Not since he stopped kidding himself about how much obvious disappointment she'd felt about his cowardice. Not since Oliver truly believed that Voldemort was the wizarding equivalent to Muggle tyrants of old, the Russian and the mustached German from the last big Muggle wars he'd learned about years ago in class. He couldn't remember the names, he'd nearly _failed_ Muggle Studies, but he didn't need to. "Voldemort" was bad enough.

The sound of his feet padding the grass and his robes moving around him were rhythmic, so much so that when Katie tugged on Oliver's shoulder to make him stop, it was the absence of these noises that brought him out of his thoughts more than the fact that he'd stopped walking. "Ollie...hear that?"

He glanced at her, straining his ears to pick up whatever it was that had eluded his notice but not hers. She completed him in that way, making up for his shortcomings with her strengths. It was no wonder he loved her so much. It was no wonder she was the one person in the world he wouldn't get seriously angry with for calling him "Ollie."

Such things didn't matter now. They mattered even less when Oliver realized what the sound was. His eyes widened, both at the realization that it was someone screaming, and at the fact that he couldn't quite put his finger on where it was coming from.

That, again, was another example of how awesome Katie was. She tugged on his arm, this time spurring him into motion. "C'mon, I think it's coming from this way."

She led him along the wall, hugging it instead of moving towards the fields and the hills therin. The Quidditch Pitch was the only thing of note away from the school, and there wasn't really much concealment between the two. The farther they dashed, the louder it became. Katie never said another word, but Oliver could tell before long that someone was being tortured.

The wall took a sharp right turn, and, nearing that, Oliver felt Katie tap him on the shoulder. Pausing just long enough to watch her gesture to the door they were passing as she ducked into the castle, mouthing "I'll go around," Oliver went right back into a run.

He stopped in his tracks as soon as he rounded the corner. The _screaming_ was bad enough, but he'd barely heard it, he'd been so intent on getting there. The sight was much worse. This was not the front lines, and the Death Eaters weren't fighting for ground. They had won their ground, this little chunk of the castle. Now, they were making sure that the ones who had been trying to prevent that from happening knew it unquestionably.

There was already a corpse on the grass, a student wearing Hufflepuff colors, and from the random, undignified way she was laid out, it'd most certainly been a 'simple' killing curse. Oliver, in the time it took for the Death Eaters to notice he was there, realized that they were torturing Colin Creevey.

For just a few seconds, Oliver couldn't move. He'd _seen_ Colin heading out, remembered McGonagall catching him when he tried to stay. How was this even _possible? _ Oliver wondered if he'd fallen into an alternate universe.

There was no blood anywhere on Colin, no signs of particularly flashy magic, so it was obvious they were torturing him with the Cruciatus Curse. It was somehow worse, the way that spell was so _clean_. Pain was easier to deal with when it left signs.

The Death Eaters were typical for their ilk. "Well well, another little Gryffindor."

The one further back, his wand still pointed towards the floor at Colin, gave a sneer. "Looks a little old to still be in school...looks big and dumb, too."

Fuming, Oliver tightened his grip on his wand. He'd worn his old school robes out of pride, not to be mocked. He spared Colin a glance, and found a pair of eyes held in absolute terror staring back at him. It was obvious that Colin remembered who he was, and it made his silent plea all the more gut-wrenching. It was painful to look at, so Oliver looked at the Death Eaters instead. "Back off from the kid, y'bastards!"

"Ohhh," the closer Death Eater smiled. "The Hogwarts kid thinks he can beat us. The _two_ of us," he said.

"You didn't think they were teaching you _real_ dark arts, did you, kid?" The far one chuckled. His wand still pointed at Colin, he snarled, 'Crucio' and Colin screamed at the top of his lungs, thrashing so hard to get away that he rolled and banged his forehead off a stone in the ground, drawing blood.

Taking one anger-motivated step forward, Oliver stopped when both Death Eaters left Colin alone and pointed their wands at him. He knew they were right; he didn't trust that he could possibly take both of them down at once. Maybe it was an advantage that they thought he was a student, but not while they were staring at him. The Death Eater near Colin spoke again. "Get a clue. Like the Dark Lord would allow you fools to learn anything you can use against him."

"Let's wait for Crabbe," the first one said. "We'll take them both and make ourselves a hostage situation."

Oliver's eyebrows went up; he knew that name, mostly as a bully who simply ran with Draco Malfoy, and he only knew who they were because they'd bothered Harry so much when Oliver had been Harry's Quidditch captain. The father, he knew, was the textbook definition of Death Eater. The Death Eater who said Crabbe's name looked up enough for his face to show under the hood, and Oliver recognized him as Walden McNair. He wondered just how many of these crazies had been let loose from Azkaban. Probably all of them.

Unnoticed by the Death Eaters who were here right _now_, Colin looked behind them and it brought Oliver's attention to the same place; Katie had come from the other side of the wall's next corner, Oliver thinking it likely that she'd jumped out of a classroom window somewhere.

Much like he didn't really know the Death Eaters beyond their infamy in the news, Oliver never really knew Colin Creevey. The kid was simply years behind him in class, and that was the way things worked. He remembered how tiny Colin used to be; it was hard to miss during that whole fiasco with the Basilisk. Now a sixth year, Colin was still small and frail-looking for his age. He was also far more courageous.

The Death Eater who'd been torturing him learned this when Colin rolled halfway around and, right from the ground, kicked him square in the knee. It was a solid kick from up close, to the front, and the Death Eater had been standing with his legs straight. If Colin were stronger, he might've broken it.

It was enough. Crying out, the Death Eater stumbled backwards and didn't even see the red flash from Katie's wand zoom by his face, hitting McNair in the back. Instantly raising his wand, Oliver aimed for the further Death Eater; he was now spinning around, attempting to counter attack. He figured Katie must've hoped for that, stunning the far target and getting the other to forget Oliver was there.

He didn't go for a stun spell, though. The Death Eater was much too close to Katie, and it didn't even register that she had taken the risk of hitting _him_ by pegging McNair when he'd been close. It was just an automatic thought, motivation to protect her from anything, at any cost, even if it wasn't a well-thought-out idea.

It didn't matter much; Oliver's charm was equally effective. It wasn't the easiest thing in the world to do on someone who wasn't unconscious, but he was determined. _"Mobilicorpus!"_

During the split-second the Death Eater realized he'd been plucked off of his feet and cried out, right before he tried to put up a fight, Oliver swiped his wand hard to the side, throwing the hooded man straight into the wall. A gentler swing in the other direction landed the man back-first onto the grass, with just enough impact to keep him disoriented and down.

Colin looked relieved beyond belief. Oliver watched Katie, a big dumb grin on his face after she gave him a wink before kneeling down to tend to Colin. Their fellow Gryffindor could barely make it to his feet on his own, and he was most certainly traumatized; he grabbed Katie in what would be a bear hug in any other situation. Even Oliver could tell he desperately needed an anchor to reality after the pain he'd just been through.

In truth, Oliver was glad she'd been the closer one to Colin; she was better at being comforting than he was, and he could see the proof. "It's okay, it's okay, they won't hurt you anymore..."

Suddenly, Colin wrenched away from her, as if she was carrying the plague. But it didn't have anything to do her; he'd seen the man rounding the corner in the black robes, a split second before Oliver did. Oliver wondered where the reflexes he had been thinking about not long ago had gone, because his wand was like a lead weight as he tried to bring it up.

Reality just ceased to exist. He heard nothing, not the incantation from the Death Eater's moving lips nor the crack of the curse leaving his wand. Oliver saw the green flash of light, not the core of it but the ambient green flowing out from behind Katie as it hit her in the back. There was no denying what had just happened, no denying the look on her face as she, perhaps, realized what happened with her last thought.

There was no denying it, but Oliver couldn't _believe_ it, he couldn't believe that literally _five seconds ago,_ his fiancé had been alive and snarky and everything she did made his heart flutter. He couldn't believe that in the time it took him to blink, she was falling to the floor and dead.

But it was true.

The shock paralyzed him. Seeing the face under the hood, Oliver was instantly shaken from grief and into fear as he recognized Crabbe. He'd never so much as seen a picture of the man, but as soon as Oliver saw him, he instantly remembered every occasion he'd seen Draco Malfoy harass Harry with this man's son at his side. The resemblance was substantial.

None of this thinking helped Oliver, though. His eyes went right back to Katie as she hit the floor, as if the whole thing had taken much longer than a handful of seconds. He heard Crabbe now, and he heard the incantation, but he'd delayed too long. Katie's fallen form simply wouldn't let him go, and by the time he realized that Crabbe was going to murder him as well, the curse was on its way.

"No!"

Colin's scream woke Oliver up from his stupor, and Oliver never would've expected what happened next, not in a million years. Colin Creevey, the skinniest, most cowardly-looking wizard Oliver had ever seen, proved that he was no coward at all. He proved it far beyond sneaking back into the castle.

Colin dived between them and took the killing curse meant for Oliver.

That was enough. Colin falling lifeless to the cold floor the same way Katie did was enough to finally make Oliver _move._ The other two Death Eaters had pulled themselves up, and Oliver found a pair of stunning spells hurled at him. Throwing his weight forward, he landed hard on his knees, but the brief pain never entered his mind. His free hand automatically snatching Katie's fallen wand, he stared straight ahead, both of them standing at the corners of his vision.

Both wands perfectly on target, he yelled, _"Stupefy!"_

Again hit with stunners, the Death Eaters fell harder than last time. Seeing Crabbe take aim, Oliver aimed both wands at his as best he could and went for a disarm before Crabbe could cast anything. It was pure instinct, making that incantation instead of shouting "stupefy" again. Oliver hadn't yet had time to feel pain and rage at what just happened, it was almost like his mind was acknowledging that it would come. On some level, he knew he wanted Crabbe to be conscious and standing.

One of his attempts at disarming Crabbe missed; the other sent his wand clear to the floor and way out of reach. Pushing himself up, Oliver took a shaky step forward, acutely aware of Katie lying right next to his foot. He tried as hard as he could to pretend everything was fine, because he knew he would break down otherwise, right here. In front of Crabbe, that would be fatal. _Not gone, she ain't gone, she ain't gone, I'm going to turn around and see her standing up, she ain't gone..._

Keeping his own wand leveled at Crabbe's sternum, Oliver couldn't stop shaking. Despite his best efforts otherwise, he couldn't stop the tears from running down his face, either. Katie's wand fell from his other hand, soundless as it landed on the lawn. "Why? _Why?_"

For a moment, Crabbe regarded him as though he had grown an extra head. He laughed. "You're asking me why I _kill the enemy?_ Are you _kidding?_"

There was no answer Oliver could think of, no retort he could possibly make that would right things. Katie had been killed for no better reason than satisfying the fanaticism of a solitary man. Voldemort was a man, regardless of what he'd turned himself into. He was a man whom others would follow, and that made him so much more disgusting than if he really was as supernatural as he liked everyone to think.

Katie and Colin were gone in an instant because Voldemort was nothing more than a man who could inspire others into killing people, without any problem.

"Hey, is anyone over here?"

The footsteps came after the voice, more than one person running towards them from behind Oliver. He didn't think, he let it distract him, turning to see who it was, not even realizing his wand was drifting off-target.

He heard the noise that Crabbe's knife made when it left its sheath, and he turned back just in time to see the Death Eater throw it at his face. Bludgers moved faster, though. Throwing one foot behind the other, Oliver let his upper body twist after his legs and spun around, moving to the side as the knife broke the air he used to be standing in. Making one full revolution, Oliver raised his wand one more time as he came to a stop.

There was never a question in his mind about what he was going to do, no moral hang-ups. It was as natural as opening an umbrella in the rain. _"Avada Kedavra!"_

And that was it. Oliver jumped a tiny, tiny bit when Crabbe hit the floor, his wand falling from his hand and rolling next to Katie's in a strangely appropriate way.

There was no distraction anymore, no way of denying that Katie was gone. Turning to look down at her, Oliver went from shaking and crying to heaving his breaths out and sobbing uncontrollably. He fell to his knees next to her, one hand determined to scoop up her wand once more before anything else. Once it was safely tucked inside Oliver's inside pocket, he clamped both hands around one of hers. She was still warm, with no indication of her death except death itself.

For the first time in his entire twenty years of life, Oliver Wood truly appreciated magic. Wasn't the point of magic to do the impossible, to bring into existence things that didn't exist anywhere, to dictate the terms of reality? What in all the world could demonstrate that idea more than bypassing the protection flesh and bone were supposed to give against death, and simply turn life _off_ the way one flicked off a light switch?

It certainly worked, and it reduced Oliver to a broken man, burying his head into the crook of Katie's neck. He pulled one hand off of hers and ran his fingers through her hair, as if he expected some sort of difference, but there was none. Maybe that would've made it easier to accept. They could've been out in the park near her parents' house on a warm Summer day.

"Oliver? Oli...oh, no..."

When Neville was finally close enough to see what was going on, Oliver almost didn't hear him. Try as he might, he couldn't quite block reality out all the way. He heard Neville say his name more than once felt a nervous hand on his shoulder, as if Neville were afraid he would get hit.

Oliver thought that was humorous. The idea went through his mind acutely, through the anguish he was going through, and he almost chuckled. He was on his side, curled up with his dead fiancé, crying so hard he couldn't see. What was he going to do? "She's not...she's not...I can't just...she might just get better if I don't leave, she might...r-right?" _Kate, c'mon girl, c'mon, say something, please, please..._

It wasn't anything close to a fair situation for Neville, but then again, he'd been through more than his share of that lately. It made him more pragmatic than many of the adults he knew. "Oliver...Oliver, you have to get up, if more of them come by here..."

The sound of Neville's voice, battle-weary as it was, did not motivate Oliver. The disembodied voice that soon followed, however, got his attention.

**"You have fought valiantly. Lord Voldemort knows how to value bravery."**

Instantly, he knew it _was_ Voldemort, talking in the third person. Oliver stopped crying and looked up. It took his body longer to catch up with his state of mind, and it was awhile before he wasn't shaking at all.

**"Yet you have sustained heavy losses. If you continue to resist me, you will all die, one by one. I do not wish this to happen. Every drop of magical blood spilled is a loss and a waste. Lord Voldemort is merciful. I command my forces to retreat immediately. You have one hour. Dispose of your dead with dignity. Treat your injured."  
**

It was the mother of internal struggle, as Oliver's emotions couldn't figure out if they wanted to continue trying (and failing) to cope with the loss, or to burn with righteous indignation. The timing seemed like it just _had_ to have been intentional, that Voldemort had somehow seen Katie Bell's death, somehow cared enough about Oliver Wood to call the Death Eaters away less than two minutes after she'd been killed.

Try as he might, however, Oliver just couldn't manage "righteous indignation," even when Katie's wand seemed to burn warm against his chest.

**"I speak now, Harry Potter, directly to you. You have permitted your friends to die for you rather than face me yourself. I shall wait for one hour in the Forbidden Forest. If, at the end of that our, you have not come to me, have not given yourself up, then battle recommences. This time, I shall enter the fray myself, Harry Potter, and I shall find you, and I shall punish every last man, woman, and child who has tried to conceal you from me. One hour."**

Standing awkwardly, Oliver looked out towards the lake. True to Voldemort's word, one would hardly believe there'd been a battle with the calm suddenly settled. The air was quiet, the sounds of battle no more.

"Oliver?"

Startled, Oliver realized he'd forgotten Neville was around. He wondered if he ever noticed him in the first place, and he thought Neville must've said his name to figure out if he was at all on Earth right now. A part of him wasn't, a part of Oliver was thinking _No, no, it's not real, Merlin help me, it's not real,_ and expecting Katie to get up any second. The other part of him realized Neville was standing there hoping that his house's old Quidditch captain hadn't gone completely off the deep end.

Being somewhat distracted, Oliver was slow to turn and actually look at Neville. Once he'd accomplished that, he was totally at a loss about what to say. He wished he could think of something, _anything_ to do. Unfortunately, war wasn't a Quidditch game, and he hadn't the foggiest idea about how to take their smaller, ever-dwindling numbers and turn the tide against the Death Eaters. It was a painful realization, because he didn't want to die here, he didn't want to die and let Katie go unremembered in a pointless death.

Oliver wasn't ever one to think that any given disaster would be the one that would reveal Harry Potter as the coward some always claimed him to be, but right now, it didn't help. Even if Harry was marching into the forest right now, there was nothing he could do to change anything. Except, ironically, exactly what the Dark Lord had told them to do with their hour. Thinking this, Oliver finally answered Neville. "We should, um," he looked down at Katie again, fully intending to say her name. "Let's...let's take Colin inside?"

It sounded like a question or a suggestion, but Neville didn't give him grief. Getting a nod from Neville, Oliver gently picked up Colin's lifeless form by the shoulders and started walking backward as soon as Neville had the poor kid's feet.

It was a silent walk, and during the first half of it, Oliver regretted taking Colin's shoulders. He wanted to spare Neville, as if it was any worse than carrying the legs and having a clear view of Colin's lifeless face. It was small comfort, as he could see Katie on the ground as he went on, still lifeless and still unmoving, right along with that poor Hufflepuff girl they hadn't been in time to save.

Knowing that Katie would probably tell him to save her for last just because she was the type to put others before herself, Oliver couldn't deny that his reasons for not taking her for anything close to noble. He knew, he actually thought of the idea, that if he saved her for last he could spent the time in-between pretending she was still alive. _I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..._

A corner in the wall eventually came, and soon after that, gate into the Great Hall. It was a frightening sight, the wounded being aided to one of the tables by anyone who could help them. There were dead in here too, the ones that no one had yet had time to come get and put somewhere more dignified. Glancing over his shoulder, Oliver saw a gathering of people with red hair and realized he didn't want to get closer. If the Weasleys had lost someone, he wasn't sure he could handle it tacked on to everything else.

Stopping dead in his tracks, Oliver looked at Neville as the younger man shot him a look of confusion. He wondered if Neville would..._No, don't ask him that, you bastard..._Because he really, _really_ didn't want to deal with going _back_ to Katie now that he'd left, only to find her still dead..._I'm sorry, Kate...I just can't, I can't deal with you being gone, why can't you come back, don't make me carry you in here..._

"You know what, I can manage him along, Neville."

That was the compromise his conscience forced on him...if Neville thought of it, perhaps realized it would be doing Oliver a dark kind of mercy, he might bring Katie in for him. Maybe Neville wouldn't realize that at all and figure that Oliver wanted him to leave her.

Heaving Colin onto his back, feeling the warmth from Katie's wand in his pocket seemingly turn into cold, Oliver Wood was ashamed to admit that he didn't know what he hoped for more.

---Tbc...


	2. veneratio inferi

**Oliver Wood and the Muggleborn's Wand**

Chapter 2 **  
**

_Alhazred - ssjDOTAlhazredATgmailDOTcom_

_Not For Profit work. Harry Potter and related materials © J.K. Rowling._

_You stupid, stupid idiot..._

An unforeseen consequence of letting Neville carry Katie back was Oliver's complete inability to _find_ her. He felt like he was on a rollercoaster: first he couldn't let her go, then he couldn't bear to be near her, now he wanted desperately to find her...to what end?

He knew he wanted to find her, though. He wanted to see her one last time, to say goodbye instead of denying it again. Oliver wanted the last time he saw the woman he'd intended to spend the rest of his life with to be more than a glimpse as he carried another dead body away from her.

She wasn't in the Great Hall, he was fairly certain of that. He still had her wand in his robes' inside pocket, snuggled against his chest, and he could swear it gave off heat.

Then again, Oliver knew he wasn't in the best state of mind right now, and he was probably imagining things. Walking out into the morning sun, his eyes instantly fell on the pile of black not far away from the gates; the Death Eaters who had died in the fight were stacked unceremoniously in contrast to Hogwarts' dead inside the hall. There was no dignity here, no respect for the fallen.

Oliver wondered if that was wrong. He thought of Crabbe again, how he'd considered Katie to be no more than an enemy. That's what there was in war; friendlies and enemies. Try as he might, he couldn't take it personally. He couldn't blame anyone other than Voldemort; the Dark Lord, now the very _dead_ Dark Lord, who had inspired these people with words and promises and, above all, twisted sympathy.

Voldemort was not on the pile.

Nor was he anywhere near the line of living Death Eaters not far away, every one of them on their knees, every one of them with both hands behind their heads. Some of them had still had their masks on when they were shoved into line, all of them now laying discarded on the grass. Seven wizards patrolled constantly around them, and Oliver recognized one of them as Arthur Weasley. He knew his family had lost at least one, and it was no surprise that his gait was far less enthused compared to the Aurors walking the line, wands drawn.

He was probably there for the same reason Oliver had left Katie behind; Death was easier to deal with when you couldn't see it, if only temporary.

Looking back at the dead, Oliver again realized that Voldemort was not on the pile. The Dark Lord was also not what Oliver had come outside to search for. Tearing his gaze away from the Death Eaters, he started glancing around at everyone carrying bodies. Some were carrying black-hooded corpses, bound for the pile. There were comparatively few of them than the lines of dead in the Great Hall, and the morbid collection was almost finished. As deadly and as violent of a fight as it had been, there had scarcely been more than a hundred combatants on either side.

Not seeing what he was looking for, Oliver headed back inside. A quick glance spared him no sign of Katie, so he decided to head over to the Weasleys. He wasn't very close with all of them, but the twins had been faithful teammates and friends for a long time, and he was acquainted with Ron through Harry years back, so it only seemed like the right thing to do. He knew he couldn't live with himself if he ducked out on them like he had on Katie.

They weren't in a circle anymore, but they were standing and sitting almost in a line, but they were in front of their lost family member. Oliver approached from the side and didn't even get the chance to say anything to them before he saw the fallen one. "Oh...Fred..."

He turned on his heels and rooted himself to that spot, feeling like he was going to hurl. First Katie, now this? Why did it have to be one that he'd been close to, that he'd known? Why had he never written them after graduating and leaving them behind? Why? Why...

"Oi, Wood?"

Turning his head to see someone with a mop of red hair at his side, Oliver realized it was Ron. "Hey...hey, I'm sorry..."

"Thanks," Ron said. "They'd always tell us what a great captain you were, he'd be glad to know you cared, I bet."

Ron's voice was dull and dead, his eyes vacant. Figuring he was much the same, Oliver nodded and forced his feet to move, walking away before he lost control of his stomach. He planned on sending his condolences to Fred's parents, and he swore he would actually write that letter this time.

As if it were destined, Oliver nearly walked into one of the dead who had been laid out peacefully on the floor while he was still in his stupor, just trying to get further away. When he looked down, he saw Katie. The Hufflepuff girl who'd been dead before they'd tried to save Colin was next to her.

Whoever had brought her in took the time to lay her out nicely. Her hands were clasped together on her stomach, her eyes closed. She looked so much more peaceful than she had out on the ground.

Wordlessly, Oliver, pulled her wand from his inside pocket and bent down, planning to slide it under her hands. At the last second, he didn't. It felt somehow wrong, it wasn't that he wanted it because it was her wand, per se, just because it was _hers_ and it was important to her. He wanted to keep a piece of her that was more than an old letter or even a Christmas present, even though she'd always known what he wanted. It just felt more like he was acknowledging she was important, that she was his world.

The problem then being that Oliver wasn't so sure he _deserved_ it. Hadn't he ran away when he should've brought her inside himself? Hadn't he let her die? Maybe he couldn't have stopped Crabbe, but why hadn't he even tried? _There wasn't even time...was there? Would you hate me if you were here, Kate...please don't hate me..._

Still, the lure of the wand was undeniable. Hands shaking, Oliver took his time in putting it back into his pocket. It was still warm in his hands, and finally, the tears he'd been holding back since hearing Voldemort's speech last night came once more. "You...you don't mind, do you? I don't...I don't just want to remember you, I want to put this somewhere I'll always see it, so...so..."

He couldn't say more through the tears, his breath coming too erratically. He didn't want to admit aloud that he wanted the wand for more than just its connection to her, but that it also made him feel a little better to have it nearby.

_"Colin...Colin! Which one of them did it, is he still alive?! Which one?!"_

Startled at hearing the name "Colin," Oliver turned to the source of the yelling. It was, by far, not the only sound of grief coming from the Great Hall. Indeed, as the delightful shock of Voldemort's death wore off, and more dead were organized on the floor, the chamber had become home to a depressing, anguished, slow wail of tears and mourning. The name was what brought Oliver's attention to this one. Surely more than one Colin attended Hogwarts...but, still.

"Dennis, what are you doing," a heavily Irish-accented voice called after him.

Colin Creevey's brother Dennis looked exactly like him, just younger. Oliver watched him sprint down the hall towards the doors with Seamus Finnigan close behind, thinking that his brother's murderer was already dead. He'd killed, _murdered_ Crabbe himself.

Perhaps that was why Oliver ran after him. After all, if Dennis was intent on revenge, _really_ intent, well...it wouldn't do for him to start throwing curses as innocent Death Eaters now, would it?

Seamus had grown up a lot since Oliver had last seen him, but he was still shorter and not the best runner in the world. Oliver caught up to him as he caught up to Dennis outside, and even from behind, he could see that Dennis was mad with grief.

The fourth-year looked back and forth between the pile of the dead and the line of living prisoners of war, still waiting for the Ministry to get its Voldemort-less self together and send reinforcements to deal with them.

Then, he pulled his wand and moved away from the pile. Both thinking the same thing, Oliver and Seamus bounded on Dennis from behind, both shouting, "No!"

Dennis never really had a chance. Oliver had his arms around him right off the bat, and Seamus went for his wand. He didn't get a hand on it, but when Oliver threw himself onto his own back, taking Dennis down on top of him, it was easy pickings.

That done, Oliver spoke an inch from his ear as soon as Dennis started to struggle. "Hey, _hey._ I know it hurts, lad. Believe me, I know. Nothing you do to any of them'll bring him back, though...he's already dead anyway. The one who killed your brother is already dead."

Dennis didn't have a chance of breaking out of Oliver's grip, but after a few more seconds, he stopped. And shortly after that, he spoke with a pained voice twenty years older than his age. "Please let me up."

Thinking that he wasn't going to stay here forever, Oliver did so. He stood up as soon as Dennis rolled off of him, and found the young Gryffindor had started staring at the pile of dead. Dennis said, "Which...which one is it?"

"I dunno," Oliver said, honestly. "I can't see him."

Catching Oliver and Seamus off-guard, Dennis instantly reverted to his anger, snatching his wand out of Seamus' hand before he could be stopped. And before Oliver could get his own wand out, he had it pointed at one of the bodies on the bottom and shouted, _"Incendio!"_

_"Expelliarmus!"_ Oliver was still processing what had just happened and just barely reaching for his wand when Seamus disarmed Dennis. The wand flew through the air, but the spell had been cast and the fire started. Seamus didn't stop there, he dashed up closer and made it to the pile before the flames could spread far. Before they could waft the smell of cooking flesh into the air. _"Aquamenti."_

"I know," Oliver ignored all of that, focusing on Dennis instead, half-repeating himself anyway. He didn't know what else to say. "I know it hurts. Your brother wouldn't want you to be like them, he'd want you to move on."

Dennis didn't say anything. He stared straight at the spot he'd cast the spell, looking like he wanted to say something. He had no answer, and he eventually lost the will to stand, falling to the ground and crying for his big brother. Oliver hoped his words might've helped, even a little, because he didn't know what else to say.

When Seamus was done and the damage turned out to be no worse than singed robes, Oliver looked around and found everyone starting at them. Not at the pile of bodies, but at the three of them. Those who were carrying dead back into the castle had stopped dead in their tracks, despite their burdens. The Death Eaters had gotten antsy and clearly angry. Even Arther Weasley was looking, but he still had that vacant look in his eyes.

"What's the matter," Oliver nearly shouted, growing as unsteady as Dennis was. "Can't we have a little respect for _all_ the dead?"

No one challenged him, but there were plenty of murmurs among the onlookers as they moved back to what they were doing. He didn't care, he didn't think death was something to ever, ever celebrate.

Looking at Oliver indifferently, Seamus asked, "Y'really think they're worth that?"

For what it was worth, Oliver thought he was asking an honest question instead of questioning his intelligence. "Of course...of course they are, everyone should have dignity and respect when they die," he said. He wasn't sure if he really believed it or if his reasoning was just something he couldn't quite put into words. Thinking about it distressed Oliver to no end, he didn't know what to do anymore, didn't know how he should feel, and he started pacing around the spot, randomly, while he tried to make sense of it. Why hadn't he flown into an uncontrollable rage when Katie died, he wondered? Was it because his act of murder seconds later shocked him out of that, the same way actually committing an act of vengeance turned Dennis sober? "Even them...even..."

Aware that a sudden impulse he felt was completely, _completely_ crazy, that no one would understand, that he himself wasn't sure if the reasoning he gave Seamus was at all an explanation for, Oliver nevertheless turned back to the pile and pointed his wand just over the top of it. _"Morsmordre!"_

If people had stopped in their tracks before, they were paralyzed with shock now. When the dark mark appeared just over the Death Eaters, every single person outside stared at it, totally shocked. No one could muster anger, it was so surprising. Some stared at Oliver, others turned to him after staring at the mark first, and not a single one of them looked angry. Oliver could tell even from far away that they all thought he was simply and utterly crazy.

Even the living Death Eaters were stoic, though a few looked more proud than they did minutes ago. Most of them looked just like everyone else; bewildered.

The mark was unimpressive, small and hovering over a pile of bodies in broad daylight, washed out by the sun. Robbed of the nighttime sky, it inspired none of the fear that it did in years past. Soon after, it faded away as if it wasn't even there.

Oliver turned and, wordless, walked back into the castle.

_---Tbc..._


	3. Basic Thuganomics

Oliver Wood and the Muggleborn's Wand

Chapter 3

_Alhazred - ssjDOTAlhazredATgmailDOTcom_

_Not For Profit work. Harry Potter and related materials © J.K. Rowling._

Oliver didn't really feel settled in yet.

It was probably because he wasn't even done unpacking, but mostly, he figured it was due to the fact he'd moved out of his parents' house for the first time, and was more than a little frightened. To top it off, he had moved into a Muggle community, and if _that_ didn't bring with it its own sense of dread and problems...

It was worth it, though. He wanted to get away from everything. Everything except Quidditch. He couldn't wait for practice to start, even if it only meant that he was practicing to sit on the bench while the team went out and kicked up a storm.

The flat was fairly plain and drab, but well-sized for having only one bedroom. He certainly planned on putting enough stuff up on the walls (mostly Quidditch-related,) but the walls weren't exactly in pristine condition.

Setting down his last box, freshly brought in via apparition from his parents' house, Oliver pulled his wand. There was a hole in the wall near the window where a nail had been carelessly extracted by the previous occupant. _"Repairo."_ Other patches of the soft beige wall had been run over with something thick and white that Oliver didn't know the name of, covering other small holes. It took him a few tries to get the color-changing charm just right.

He looked back at his boxes, all neatly piled into the corner near the door. He wanted to unpack them by hand, both for the satisfaction of it and because he didn't really trust himself with magic that required a maintained, steady wand motion. One-shot spells and charms were more his forte.

At the same time, he didn't want to do it right _now._ There was a certain urge to procrastinate after actually _getting_ them here, even by apparating. Sparing one last glance at his belongings, making sure he had both his key and his shiny new cell phone tucked away into a pocket, Oliver walked through the door.

After he locked it, he glanced up and down the short hallway, as well as up the small set of stairs leading outside. He knew he was being paranoid, but sometimes, the mundane way Muggles did things left him that way. His stuff, meager and un-plentiful as it was, seemed oddly more vulnerable in its current state. He found himself shrewdly pulling his wand from his pocket, getting a slight rush out of being sneaky, even if there was no one around he had to hide from at the moment.

_"Colloportus,"_ he pointed his wand at the door knob. Upon hearing the very un-door-like sound the spell gave off, Oliver tucked his wand away and allowed himself a smile while he walked outside.

He still carried Katie's wand in one pocket, though what had been his inside-robe pocket was now the rather deep, left pocket of his baggy jeans, his own wand finding a home on the other side. He hadn't felt right just packing her wand away with everything else, though once he had the place set up, he planned on setting it out somewhere.

Pulling the hood of his sweatshirt over his head, Oliver wondered where Summer had gone. It wasn't even September yet and the cool air was definitely unseasonable. Not really having a direction in mind, Oliver ambled down to the end of Woodland; it was a dead end in the other direction anyway.

Figuring that it wouldn't be very exciting to just walk around the residential district, he took a right at the end of his street, crossed traffic and headed down Station Road. He had not moved into a very populated area; indeed, he wasn't sure he could've handled central London, but he knew a good portion of anything going on in this town was probably going on at Station Road. The _Wizard's Guide to Muggle Living_ had said that about this town, but very little else. That was one of the reasons he'd chosen it, since there clearly wasn't much going on here. It was peaceful.

Immediately upon seeing the first restaurant, Oliver realized he hadn't eaten in awhile. He fought back the urge to gorge, though...primarily because, after he'd finally wrapped his head around Muggle money, he knew he didn't have much to go on until the season started and he was being paid again.

Still, he could afford to splurge once or twice; he just didn't want it to be on food.

Continuing down the street, Oliver thought it resembled Diagon Alley, if he ignored the paved blacktop with cars driving by. There weren't many people, but they still filled the sidewalk, bustling about with their everyday business. A particularly shiny, expensive looking car parked in front of a pub reminded Oliver that he was _definitely_ going to pass a driving test, even if he ended up never buying one.

That could wait for later, though. When he had the faintest idea of where one went to learn how to drive, and probably when he had a better idea of why random people every so often gave him weird looks. Sometimes downright _rude_ looks; he wondered if he was making some sort of fashion faux-pas.

About halfway down the left side of the street, Oliver stopped on a dime when something in a store's window caught his eye. It was a comfy-looking jacket, not too thick, probably good for everything but the coldest months of winter. There was an empty nametag on the right side, and he found the pattern of colors very strange, with seemingly random splotches of Navy Blue everywhere over off-white. What grabbed Oliver's attention most of all was the blue; it was a dead ringer for Puddlemere United's blue, as if it was lifted from his team robes.

A goofy grin came over Oliver's face. _I have to have it._ The idea of brazenly wearing his team colors in full view of Muggles was nearly intoxicating. Glancing up at the store's sign that read "King's Guard Surplus," he went inside.

Most of the clothes for sale, he was surprised to discover, shared similar patterns to the jacket he wanted, in all kinds of varying colors. The boots displayed on one wall were downright scary, too. The knives in the display case near the register looked more harmful than the one once thrown at him. Seeing that moment in his head again, he was glad that Death Eaters tended to discard anything Muggle-related as worthless.

"Can I help you with anything?"

"Huh?" Oliver snapped out of his flashback. "Oh...oh, uh, I saw a jacket in the window, the blue one..."

The clerk behind the register, an honestly helpful young man about Oliver's age but much skinnier, put down the magazine he'd been reading. He leaned over the counter enough to eye the object Oliver had been referring too. "Right-o. Funny, never thought anyone would want those colors...anyway, if you're interested I'll go find one you can try on. What's your size?"

Fortunately, Oliver had grown up in a family that found Muggle clothes useful as casual-wear, and he didn't need to stumble over this one. "Large," he said, still grinning. That grin faded, however, when he realized he needed to know the price. He couldn't splurge _too_ much. "Uh...how much is it?"

"Got me," the clerk hopped out from behind the desk, "Old Man Duke doesn't put price tags on the window stuff. Says it makes it look more upscale, getting daft in his old age, I think...we'll certainly find out, anyway."

Waiting patiently, Oliver shuffled his feet a little. _Can't be that much, can it?_

Soon enough, the clerk (Conner, Oliver read on his nametag) came back from the storeroom, carrying two coats. "Here we go...I brought an Ex-El, too, I think your arms might be a little too much for the large. Seventeen-thirty-six, by the way."

"Oh, thanks," Oliver took the large one first. His fears were assuaged; that was less money than he had in his wallet, certainly affordable. He eagerly pulled his hoodie off, a bit clumsily since he was already trying to hold onto the jacket with one hand as well, though Conner's level of customer service was again demonstrated when he held out his own free hand, offering to hold it. Unfortunately, Oliver noticed immediately what he'd been talking about; he could feel the seams at the top of the arms strain against his skin. "I think you're right."

The extra-large, however, had no such problem. The bottom hung an inch or two below Oliver's waist, the arms were a perfect fit, not baggy but not strained at all. He crossed his arms over his chest as far as he could, testing the back. "Perfect...it's perfect, I'll take it."

Again hopping over the desk, Conner set the extra jacket aside and punched the requisite numbers into the register. Oliver fished a twenty from his wallet, quickly closing it when an image of himself standing with Percy Weasley waved back at him from the middle. Maybe carrying around a wizard's photograph in the thing wasn't the best idea after all. _I should probably fix that, or get them to stop waving in public..._

"That good?" Oliver said, handing over his payment. He knew the amount was fine, but he wasn't sure if Muggles had weird issues over exact change or not. He figured he was just being paranoid and jumpy again, the same way moving here away from his parents made him feel.

"Yeah, I have plenty of change," Conner said, counting it out as he did so. "Nice day then, eh?"

"Thank you," Oliver dropped the coins into his pants pocket, where they jiggled at the tip of his wand. He shoved the one-pound notes in there too, not wanting to open his wallet again.

His hoodie folded and tucked under one arm, Oliver left the store and continued his stroll down the street, now feeling like he owned the world. It was amazing, absolutely amazing, what a nice new thing to wear could do, and Oliver was pretty sure he even looked good in it. Touching the end of Katie's wand, he felt like she'd have approved. Or rather, he felt like she would laugh, hug him and then say he was an incorrigible jock.

For a brief second, Oliver could swear he felt her arms around him.

The second passed. He stopped walking, realizing that he'd completely forgotten where he was, and needed to get his bearings. A man walking a little too close behind him bumped as he passed, leaving with a curt "Pardon," though Oliver barely noticed.

It was a happy memory. Thinking of Katie made him sad and happy at the same time, because he tried to only remember the happy things. Of course, the bad naturally came along with it. Sometimes it came even more clearly: the huge fight they'd had when she'd thought she might've been pregnant, the look in her eyes when he'd said he wanted to run away from the "revamped" Ministry instead of fight.

Still, the good far outweighed it, as Oliver also remembered when he'd first asked her out and stumbled over his words while they stood in the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch, or when he'd dropped to his knees and held up the ring. It scarcely mattered that the Death Eaters had interrupted them soon after.

Realizing he was standing in front of a diner, Oliver decided it was worth spending the extra money to make himself feel better. It wasn't like he'd gone grocery shopping and had food waiting for him at home anyway. Besides, he thought it might've been a good idea to go back to that handy copy of _Wizard's Guide to Muggle Living_ and make sure there wouldn't be any surprises there.

It wasn't a busy diner, at least not at the moment. Oliver took a seat at the counter and fidgeted, somewhat nervous that he was somehow giving himself away. He remembered taking the prep lecture at the Ministry required for all wizards with plans to live in a Muggle community...it should've been a whole detailed course, Oliver thought. Still, one useful thing he'd learned was how natural it could be to feel like one was giving himself away just by standing around.

Or in Oliver's case, sitting around. Thus, he was a little startled when one of the waitresses came from out of nowhere, saying, "What can I get you, hon?"

"Uh," Oliver blinked. Her nametag read 'Jessica.' "I, uh...I've never been here before..."

"Oh, well, that's okay," she said, grabbing a menu from in-between a pair of napkin holders not two feet from Oliver's hands. "Everything you'd expect from a place like this, really. Want something to drink first?"

Feeling rather foolish, Oliver said, "Well...just water."

"Sure thing, coming right up."

While she ran off, Oliver fumbled through the menu. Looking down at his arms, he was reminded of the jacket he'd bought not ten minutes ago, so easily forgotten while he'd been thinking about the past. _Yeah, it __does__ look good._

He didn't stutter anymore when she came back with his water, but instead of saying anything, she fixed him with a long, pointed stare. Before it grew to higher levels of awkwardness, he said, "Is something wrong?"

"You just look familiar," she answered. "Have we met?"

"Oh, doubt it," said Oliver. "I just moved here...over on Woodland Road. Haven't even unpacked yet."

"Oh!" She actually snapped her fingers. "I remember now. We live in the same building, I saw you there last week, you must've been checking out the flat."

"That'll do it, I guess," Oliver smiled, sipping his water.

It was nice to have a normal conversation with people again.

_---tbc..._


	4. The Spirit of Curling

**Oliver Wood and the Muggleborn's Wand**

Chapter 4

_Alhazred - ssjDOTAlhazredATgmailDOTcom_

_Not For Profit work. Harry Potter and related materials © J.K. Rowling._

"Let's see," Oliver flipped a page in the book, and started reading aloud. "'Place the parchment over the intended embroidery spot, and then perform the charm. It's that simple!' I certainly hope so..."

Shoving his copy of "101 Useful Spells for the Modern Homemaker" further down his small table, Oliver made sure his jacket was laid out perfectly straight. He'd taken a thick quill and carefully wrote out "WOOD" on a little slip of parchment the same size as the empty name patch on the right side, a slip of parchment that he carefully placed over it. Painstakingly making sure that it was lined up perfectly, he stood up, glanced back at the book to make sure he knew the incantation, and picked up his wand.

_"Plumaria!"_ At first, he was worried it hadn't worked. Slowly, though, the ink on the parchment faded, drained downward as if it was too thin to be held. When Oliver plucked it off, he found his last name expertly embroidered on the jacket in black thread. It was perfect. "Alright!"

Scarcely was he celebrating the accomplishment when a medium-size grey owl flew in through the open window. At first, he assumed it had to have been from his parents. They were sending an obsessive number of owls, he'd already gotten four of them earlier in the morning. He'd heard of empty nest syndrome, but this was ridiculous.

And then Oliver noticed that the owl had a small, owl-sized navy-blue scarf wrapped around it, the color almost a dead match for his jacket. One end of the scarf was topped off with a Puddlemere united patch.

Wondering why he was getting team-related mail at the moment, Oliver plucked the letter off of the Owl's leg and sent the bird on its way. He unrolled it, but a knock on the door stopped him before he could start reading. "Uh...one second!"

Tucking the letter into his pocket, he moved back to the table and slammed the book closed, set his wand down next to it, and threw the jacket on top. He wouldn't admit to owning that book even if a wizard happened to be knocking anyway.

If there were other wizards around, Oliver didn't know about them. Still, he was slightly surprised at finding his waitress from the diner greeting him. "Oh...hey! I totally forgot you said we live in the same building..."

With a shrug, Jessica answered, "No worries. Just thought I'd come by and give you a proper welcome...no one else in the building ever seems to notice anything going on." She walked in when he gestured for her to do so, "I was going to drag my roommate down too, but he he's at work." Pulling her hands out from behind her back, she revealed a good-sized plate with several good-sized chocolate-chip cookies on it, snugly sealed with saran wrap. "Anyway...welcome to the building."

"Oh, well, thanks you!" Oliver found himself. He couldn't help but notice that Jessica had Katie's hair color. He knew it was stupid to think of something like that, and it flustered him to think that such a thing could set him off, but he still had her wand in his pocket. Shoving his hand in, he wrapped his fingers around the end of it. "Hey, my name's Oliver, by the way."

Jessica had become wrapped up in looking around at the still-bare apartment. "Jessica...but you probably noticed that yesterday?"

"Well," Oliver answered, setting the plate down and working at unwrapping the plastic. It seemed only polite to try one now, and besides, he hadn't had a lot of home cooked food lately, not since he and Katie had set off on the run. "Pleased to meet you...and these are _very_ good, by the way."

"Well, they better be," she chuckled. "Two years into culinary school, I'd be in trouble if I couldn't make cookies yet." Taking another glance around the room, she eyed the jacket on the table. "Oh, hey. You must've gotten that at the surplus store?"

"Yeah," Oliver nodded. "I'd already put it on yesterday, actually."

His intention hadn't been to make her feel stupid, but she didn't seem to care much. With an eye roll, she said, "Sorry, I stop noticing simple things after I've been at work for a few hours." Glancing around, she added, "So, settled in already?"

She'd said it with such a straight face that Oliver couldn't help but make sure that his boxes were still in their neat little pile. "Not even a little. I was going to get started, just...don't know where to start getting started."

"Well," she said, "I'll give you a hand if you like...not like I'm doing anything better, and you...don't seem to have all that much anyway. Something against furniture?"

"Huh?" Taking his own look around the nearly empty living room, Oliver was reminded of the fact that his boxes contained literally everything he owned, save for his bed and the few things he'd grown up with in his bedroom at home. The small desk tucked nicely against one wall was really the most interesting thing. "Oh, I, uh...just don't have a lot in the way of money right now...I'll get some when work starts up again in a month or so."

"Huh," she nodded. It didn't quite make sense, why someone would move into their own place without the funds to pay for furnishings, but she didn't ask him to explain what she was missing. "Don't know what I'd do without the telly, myself. I suppose there's not much point in unpacking if you've got nowhere to put it, still seems a little depressing, though."

"Yeah," Oliver admitted. "I'll get over it...truth be told I won't be around all that much once practice starts anyway?"

Her eyebrows raised, Jessica asked, "Practice? You play sports then?"

"Yeah," Oliver nodded. Remembering the owl he'd gotten he picked the letter back up from the table. "Well, I'm only on the reserve, but it pays the bills, you know?" He hadn't planned on doing more than skimming the letter right that second, but when his eyes caught sight of the word 'killed,' his eyes grew a little wider and he started over from the beginning. "Hang on a minute..."

_Wood,_

_Sorry to drop this on you less than a month before practice starts, but we've had a hell of a time getting all re-organized now that You-Know-Who's gone and Quidditch can go normally._

_I'll not beat around the bush. It turns out we didn't get out of the whole thing without a loss; Pickman is gone. When everyone went on the lamb I didn't hear much at all so I didn't think anything of it, but I know it was foolish to keep being optimistic when I never heard from him after the end. I've just gotten a letter from his family myself, who apparently just now heard from the Aurors. They just recently identified his body, and it seems he was killed during the Diagon Alley Massacre. If half the reports of that nuttery are true, it's safe to say he went down fighting the bloody Death Eaters with everything he had._

_From a gaming standpoint (naturally I don't intent to sound heartless, but this is my job after all, and he'd certainly want us to move on instead of crying) we could count ourselves lucky compared to some of the other teams, I don't think the Tornados will even make the league this year. That aside, we obviously need a replacement Chaser._

_You're it. I know you're more comfortable as Keeper, but you're the best at everything of all the reserves. As well as you should be, since you've had the patience to stick around since you finished at Hogwarts. Just show up for practice like normal, only difference is you'll be practicing with the main team. Send me letter if you have any questions._

_--------Coach Murphy_

_P. S.: Apologies for the owl regarding your current residence in a Muggle neighborhood, I'm in a rush. Will endeavor to use the Muggle post next time._

"Merlin's beard," Oliver muttered. "I...I'm on the team." Reading over the last paragraph again, he could scarcely believe it. "I'm...someone...someone died and they're pulling me off the reserves to replace him."

Fortunately, Jessica wasn't oblivious to the conflicting emotions the news had brought. "Well, that's the world for you, isn't any good news that can't come along with something bad, is there?"

"Yeah," Oliver rolled the parchment back up. He was happy, he really was, but he would celebrate later when he'd mourned for his teammate. Not that he and Pickman had ever played a game together, but that didn't matter much. "I...still. This has been my dream for as long as I can remember. Maybe instead of bad news, I'll look at it like motivation to make sure I don't screw it up."

He grabbed another one of Jessica's cookies, barely noticing when she pulled one of the chairs out and sat down, legs crossed. "What sport do you play, anyway? I confess I'm a bit of a football fan...Conner, my roommate, he's sort-of dragged me into it lately."

"Huh?" Oliver blinked, his voice muffled since his mouth was full. Instantly, his mind shot back to a single page in the "Wizard's Guide to Muggle Living," the one that mentioned what a Quidditch player should say if a Muggle ever asked them this very question. He suddenly regretted not reading the rest of the section, as he imagined it would've told him about the sport he was going to fake being a part of in case he was ever pried for details.

Swallowing hard, he realized he must've looked nervous, but he couldn't help himself. "Uh...Curling?"

Much to his surprise, Jessica tilted her head ever so slightly and blinked once. She looked like she'd suffered a terrible let-down. "That's...interesting...so you'll be at the Winter Olympics, then?"

"I only hope," he smiled. He knew the word 'Olympics' meant to a Muggle the same thing 'Quidditch World Cup' meant to a Quidditch player, but he wondered what Curling must've been like, for someone to assume that "being on the team" was synonymous with 'being at the Olympics.' "Just gotta do what I always do, give it my all and hope for the best."

Looking back over his boxes yet again, Jessica stood back up. "Let's celebrate. I'll buy you a drink. Better than moping over your boxes, right? We can drag Conner out, too, he should be getting out of work soon. You must've met him when you bought your jacket."

Hearing her roommate's name again, Oliver felt the little revelation sink in, remembering the clerk's nametag. "Oh, right! Yeah...yeah! Why not?"

He could tell from her tone of voice that when she said 'moping over your boxes,' she really meant 'moping over your teammate's death,' but he didn't say anything. He had something to do besides sit in an empty flat, and he was making friends in an unfamiliar neighborhood.

All in all, things could've been worse.


	5. Avaddar Caddavar

**Oliver Wood and the Muggleborn's Wand**

Chapter 5  
_A__lhazred - ssjDOTAlhazredATgmailDOTcom  
Not For Profit work. Harry Potter and related materials © J.K. Rowling._

Oliver hadn't realized how much of his belongings consisted of Quidditch paraphernalia. Still, he didn't mind. He _was_ a professional Quidditch player, after all.

His flat just had a little too much wall space for his stuff to fill. He opted to put most of it in his bedroom; better to go to sleep thinking about Quidditch and then have it be the first thing he saw waking up. The red Gryffindor and navy-blue Puddlemere banners clashed horribly, but he didn't care.

The pictures were more important. A picture of his Gryffindor team went onto the nightstand without question, the smiling players all fidgeting excitedly amongst each other. Katie and Fred waved at him sometimes.

He put Katie's wand on the bureau. Next to it, he set a picture of the two of them taken with a Muggle camera, by her parents. Between them, he put the engagement ring he'd given her. Like the ring, the setup wasn't the most impressive thing in the world; he somehow imagined it would have more glamour to it, even though this was exactly what he'd planned to do. Still, it was more than enough.

Like the ring had been more than enough for _her_.

Thinking of her parents, Oliver wondered if he should contact them. Being Muggles, he was sure they were only told about what happened to their daughter. Oliver wasn't really listed as her next-of-kin anywhere now, was he? Once she'd been tallied with the dead, he imagined they were either sent a letter via Muggle post or had a visit from an Auror. Probably the letter, considering how busy all the Aurors probably were right now trying to organize everything into something that made sense.

A thought came to Oliver, so horrible that it made him feel sick; what if Katie's parents hadn't been told _at all_ yet?

Without warning, Oliver's pocket started shaking. Not having any enchanted shaking things in his pockets that he was aware of, he jumped, startled out of his mind, and grabbed for the offending object so forcefully that he ended up throwing up into the air when he pulled it out.

Fortunately, Oliver caught his cell phone before it crashed to the floor. "Bugger! Gotta tell this thing to just make _noise_ instead of..."

His spoken thoughts faded as he got a look at the Caller-ID, clearly displaying "Weasley, Percy." When did Percy get a Muggle phone? When did Percy _contact_ him? After school, Percy had been more than a _little_ absorbed in his work. Oliver's surprise, in no small part due to the fact that his heart was still beating a million times a minute, came through when he answered the call. _"Percy?"_

Percy's response was curt as ever. "Oliver. How are you?"

"Uh, fine, I guess," Oliver said, not really wishing to get into any of that over the phone. "How'd you get my number?"

"I sent an owl to you at your parents house, didn't know where you were since Quidditch hasn't started up yet," Percy answered. "They sent me back your number."

Oliver remembered, at this particular time, just _why_ he had his phone set to shake instead of make noise. The noise would never _stop_ with his parents calling him day-in and day-out to make sure he was okay. It was almost as bad as the pile of letters growing on the table. Did they not realize he didn't have access to an outgoing owl here? "Oh, well...that works, I guess."

"Listen," Percy sighed. He sounded worn-out. "I was hoping we could catch up, my boss just ordered me to take some down-time, work's been a little...hectic, I just don't have anything to _do..._"

"Yeah, sure," Oliver said. "Where do you want to meet?"

Percy asked, "Leaky Cauldron good for you? Lunch on me?"

"Right, I'll be there in a few." One thumb on the hang-up button, Oliver said, "See you there."

As if on cue, his phone shook again, the Caller-ID displaying his parents' number. He was sure they knew their way around the phone less than he did himself, and they'd just memorized the button combination that equaled 'bother Oliver.'

Briefly, Oliver contemplated leaving it behind, but he threw it back into his pocket anyway. Stopping off in the living room, he threw his jacket on, shoved his feet into his trainers, and pointed his wand at the door. _"Colloportus."_

He just couldn't shake that slight paranoia; it was becoming a bad habit. This accomplished, he apparated from the spot.

Oliver had chosen Diagon Alley as his destination rather than the pub itself. He felt like a walk, even if it wasn't a very far walk. He made sure to arrive between the end of the alley and "Quality Quidditch Supplies," lest he be tempted to burn money on things he just didn't need.

It was good to see the street bearing some resemblance to normalcy. Shops were re-opening, people were out and about, even "Weasley's Wizard Wheezes" was open for business, but Oliver couldn't muster the strength to go inside. There was scarcely a sign of the massacre.

Percy, as it turned out, was already at the Leaky Cauldron. He'd gotten a table and waved Oliver over as soon as he walked in. "Oliver...I guess your parents weren't kidding when they said you'd moved to a Muggle neighborhood."

Glancing down at himself, Oliver tugged at his jacket. It was certainly a contrast to Percy's pristine robes, but the look on Percy's face was also a contrast to those robes, as well. Percy was worn ragged, and he looked ten years older than he actually was. "Aw, shut up, Perc. You're not one to talk about looks. Have you slept lately?"

"Not really," Percy managed a smile. Despite everything, he was still proud of overworking himself. "Lots to do at the Ministry, you can imagine. Kingsley has me running around trying to...well, it's not important. I mean, it is, I just don't want to talk about it."

Not for the first time in the recent past, Oliver was reminded of how he'd changed with the world around him. Whether it was simply growing up, or being shaped by the world, he didn't know. It was frightening to see this same change in Percy, though. Here he was, assistant to the Minister (or interim Minister, in Kingsley's case,) and he _wasn't_ bragging about the tasks assigned to him.

Oliver desperately wanted to say something about Fred, offer the condolences he'd been too much of a coward to say after the battle had ended. He still couldn't muster the courage.

It was halfway through lunch when Oliver finally thought of something innocuous to say. "So...Thicknesse still around at all?"

"Merlin's sake, no," Percy nearly laughed. Nearly. "Imperioused or not, no one wants to see his face around any position of authority. A shame, really...being lambasted so hard for something that wasn't really his fault, but that's the way the world works sometimes."

"Yeah" Oliver stared down at his plate. Did people _die_ because that was the way the world worked, too? "Yeah..."

If Percy knew what Oliver was thinking, he didn't act on it. "Hey, Oliver...can I ask you something?"

Nodding, Oliver watched Percy glance about, as though he were worried someone might overhear. When Percy leaned in, Oliver did as well, expecting some grand, exciting secret. "What?"

"Is it true?" Stumbling over the words, Percy went on, "You were...you set off the Dark Mark after the fight?"

Suddenly, Oliver thought back to what Percy had said about his current job, that Kingsley had him 'running around' doing something. Running around chasing loose ends and questionable behavior? Hadn't the Knight Bus' conductor gotten thrown into Azkaban for less even before everything had hit the fan? "T'hell with you!"

Bolting from his chair, Oliver made for the entrance back into the alley. He was thankful another wizard had already opened it, because he really, _really_ didn't want to stop and wait for the bricks to shift. Being thankful didn't stop him from rudely shoving his way by, hearing Percy call after him.

"Oliver..._Oliver!_" Percy was faster than he'd expected. Catching up once Oliver was stomping further into Diagon Alley, Percy grabbed an arm and spun him around.

This didn't prove very effective; Oliver was bigger than Percy was, after all. Wrenching his arm away violently, Oliver practically _screamed_ at him, eyes bulging. "Don't _touch_ me! Don't want to talk about what the Ministry's got you doing, eh! They send you to spy on me, see if the lad who set off the mark is really a Death Eater or just off his rocker?!"

"What? _No,_" Barely moving, Percy looked like he didn't quite know what was going on. "I just wanted to know! There's so many rumors, Oliver, and _why..._"

Not buying a word of it, barely even _hearing_ him, Oliver did not calm down. "_What_ then! Why _else_ wouldn't you say!"

"I'm tallying the _dead,_" Oliver!" Percy had raised his voice as well by now, more to make sure Oliver heard the words. He was too shocked to be angry, and he regretted saying that so loudly as soon as it left his mouth. It certainly stopped Oliver cold, though, and Percy was rather thankful for that. "Owls to families with loved ones who won't be coming home, visits to Muggle houses where they don't have the faintest clue why their children haven't written them..._someone's_ got to make sure it gets done." Looking around, Percy could see that the few people gathering at the prospect of a scene were already moving on their way now. Letting out a sigh, he leaned against the wall of the Apothecary's building. "It's just...not something I wanted to talk about now that I have five minutes' peace."

Stunned, Oliver spent a long minute staring at him, wide-eyed, mouth hanging open. "I..I.."

"Yeah," Percy waived him off. "Bloody hell, Oliver...what's gotten into you? I know you and Katie...never mind, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anything..."

Leaning against the wall himself, almost sliding down it, Oliver was still trying to catch his breath. Had he really just done that, snapped like that with no real, good reason? _Pull yourself together, Wood! What's __**wrong**__ with you?_ "I'm sorry about Fred," he blurted out, not even knowing why. "I'm so sorry..."

"Thank you," Percy answered.

"Katie," Oliver started. He couldn't talk fast, or he wouldn't be able to hold in the tears. "Katie was Muggleborn...her...her parents know, right? Do you know if they know? They're not..."

The obvious answer to this would've been for Percy to tell Oliver to go ask them himself, if he was that worried. Percy Weasley wasn't that cruel, though. Nor was he ignorant of what Oliver must've felt like. Regardless, the look on his tired face was strained, as if he had an aversion to staying here any longer just like Oliver back in the pub. "I'll check into it and make sure... why? Why the mark, after everything that's happened, why would you..."

"Because," Oliver wondered if he even knew the answer to that himself, "Because everyone deserves dignity, because I'd just murdered a man and I...wasn't thinking clearly..."

"It was war, Oliver," Percy said, quite matter-of-factly. "There's no murder in war, just..just death."

How Percy could say that after losing a brother, Oliver wasn't sure. He wasn't even very convincing. "No, I didn't _have_ to, I could've stunned him, y'got time to aim the killing curse, y'got time to just stun the guy..."

The words 'killing curse' had slipped before Oliver realized what he was saying. That had been his secret, one he never intended to tell anyone, even if it should've been perfectly obvious. Would Percy be appalled? Would he go even further, hold him to the letter of the law and have him thrown into Azkaban for using an Unforgivable Curse, despite what he'd just said about war?

Much to his surprise, Percy didn't seem fazed. "Huh...I bet the incantation sounds ridiculous with your accent." Blinking his eyes twice, Oliver had to let it sink in that Percy had just cracked a joke, and an incredibly tasteless one, at that. Maybe he was channeling Fred. "I really should be going, though, I probably shouldn't have stayed out this long as it is, it's just going to keep piling up...don't worry so much about it, Oliver. It's not like you were the only one that night who killed."

Percy walked away just like that, leaving Oliver silent, remembering how he watched with everyone else as Voldemort tried to kill Harry and killed himself instead.

Feeling like he was somehow missing the point of what Percy was saying, he feebly raised a hand as if to wave when the word 'goodbye' just wouldn't leave his mouth.


	6. A Midsummer Night's Humidity

**Oliver Wood and the Muggleborn's Wand  
**Chapter 6  
_Alhazred - ssjDOTalhazredATgmailDOTcom - alhazredDOTlivejournalDOTcom  
Not For Profit work. Harry Potter and related materials © J.K. Rowling._

After his rather disastrous conversation with Percy, Oliver really needed some time to chill out. Practice with Puddlemere United started soon, and he couldn't afford to be a head-case. He had to get off the edge.

As such, when he finally apparated back, he didn't land in his flat, he landed at the end of Woodland Road. He knew he shouldn't have done it out in public like that, but he wanted to make the walk. He figured it would do him good.

It might not have been the best idea. There was a light mist settled over the area now, and it was a little muggy. Still, Oliver walked, tugging his jacket off and throwing it over his shoulder. The thick air was the first indication that it was still the middle of Summer he could remember since he'd moved here.

The walk did little to assuage Oliver's troubled mind. By the time he reached his door in the building, his back was sore from the slumped posture he'd walked with, and his trainers were scuffed from his feet dragging across the ground. He put his key in the lock, forgetting that it wouldn't work.

Upon not being able to make the door budge, he glanced up and down the hallway, pulling his wand. _"Alohamora."_

Much to his disappointment, the humidity followed him inside. Not understanding how, Oliver kicked off his trainers - an effort that was more trouble than bending down to untie them probably would've been - and mulled over this fact. Usually, the indoors was always a _little_ more calm than the outdoors.

Plodding into his room, pulling his shirt off so violently he almost tore it, Oliver found the source of the issue; the window was open. He could've sworn he'd closed it, what with his fondness for magically sealing the door.

Giving up on his bedroom for a place of comfort, Oliver shut the window and went back to the kitchen table. He didn't have the strength for an atmospheric charm right at the moment, and he didn't want to make things worse by fudging it. The last thing he needed to do was make an indoor rain storm.

Letting his head _thunk_ down onto the cool wood of the table, Oliver kept track of his own breathing. About the twentieth time he counted himself exhailing, he had a wild idea and reached into his pocket.

Flipping his phone open, he found the speed-dial menu and clicked 'call' over his parents' number. Briefly, he wondered if his parents had figured out how to _answer_ the thing, since no one had ever really called them before. This seemed to have been a valid worry, as it rang a good seven times before it was finally picked up.

What Oliver heard was not the customary "hello" of standard Muggle phone usage, but rather, his mother's voice in the distance, saying, "No, flip it around, Elric..."

Followed by his father's voice, sounding _very_ distant, "Like this? Oh, you take the thing then, Oakley..."

"No," his mother's voice came again. "You've got it backwards _and_upside down...here we go! Hello? Oliver?"

"Mum?" Oliver said. "Yeah, it's me...how are you'n Dad doing?"

"Oh, we're fine, Ollie," she said, and Oliver was _sure_ she knew he was cringing at hearing that nickname. "How are _you_ doing? How's the Muggle town? You're not having trouble adjusting, are you? Your father is worried you might afoul of those Muggle chav gangs. Or any Death Eaters that weren't caught, you _are_ keeping up with the news, right? We'll get you a subscription to the _Daily Prophet._ Do you have enough money? Conversion rates weren't too bad?"

"I'm fine, Mum," Oliver couldn't help but smile, despite himself. As exasperated as his parents made him feel, it was normal. "Really. It's a nice neighborhood, and I have enough to hold me over until I start getting paid."

Most of the conversation was like this; Oliver's father never did take the phone, afraid he was going to break it, apparently. Instead, he shouted from the background, things like, "Ask him if he needs any food," to which his mother would promptly repeat by starting with "Your father wants to know if..."

Finally, Oliver remembered the biggest, most important thing he should probably tell. "Mum, listen...no, really, I have enough money, listen...I'm not on the Puddlemere reserve anymore." This proved to be a bad way to start the story, because his mother _freaked out,_ told his father, who also freaked out, and even more clearly assumed something _bad_ had happened. "Mum, calm down! I got moved to the _team!_ I'll be _playing_ when the season starts!"

Once his mother relayed this information to his father, Oliver heard nothing but dead silence for ten seconds. Followed immediately by cheering and congratulating that was even _louder_ than the previous misguided anger.

At this point, Oliver decided it was best to hang up. "Yes, Mum...yes, I'll tell you when my first game is, of course," he wondered if he would 'conveniently' forget, "I have to go now, yes, I'll call again...I love you too."

Clicking the 'end call' button, Oliver set his phone down on the table, a smile on his face. His parents were overbearing, annoying, loud, and angry, and he was sure plenty of people would sum that up by saying "they're Scottish."

He didn't care. They were his parents, after all. It was normal for them. All was right with the world.

A knock on the door brought Oliver out of his reverie, but he didn't mind. He was feeling better, even if he was making a mental note to apologize to Percy later. Opening the door revealed Conner, who looked quite happy as well. He was wearing pants that he only could've gotten from his workplace. "Hey, Ollie! Jess and I are going to grab a bite and watch the game, care to join us?"

Remembering what Jessica had told him earlier about how Conner had dragged her into football, Oliver started wondering just _what_ Muggle sports were all about, anyway. Besides, it couldn't hurt to spend time with friends. At least, it couldn't be any worse than spending time with Percy had been. He didn't even feel an urge to deck the poor guy for channeling his mother and calling him 'Ollie.' "Sure. Just let me get dressed..."


	7. Interval:01

**Oliver Wood and the Muggleborn's Wand  
**Chapter 7  
_Alhazred - ssjDOTalhazredATgmailDOTcom - alhazredDOTlivejournalDOTcom  
Not For Profit work. Harry Potter and related materials © J.K. Rowling._

The second he opened his eyes, Oliver knew he was dreaming.

It was nothing so trivial as having a lucid dream, of realizing what he was seeing couldn't possibly be real simply because it looked impossible. He was, after all, a wizard. It was hard to surprise a wizard with impossible things.

He simply _knew_ it as a dream. As he watched the people pass to and fro in the Great Hall, he wondered what he was doing here. It was just like during the battle, with people scurrying about, trying to handle the dead. He saw Neville Longbottom carrying a dead Colin Creevey on his back, and he knew that was wrong.

Neville walked right by him, in fact. Or at least, he was going to. Oliver watched as Neville stopped, slowly turned his head, and stared at him for a goof five seconds, eyes growing wider.

And then, Neville screamed, as he dropped Colin in an undignified manner off of his back. It was horrible, blood-curdling, his mouth was moving but Oliver couldn't understand him beyond the wail. It was much more horrifying when he realized his right arm was coming up, pointing his wand straight at Neville's heart. _"Avada Kedavra."_

His own voice was all he heard. The rest of the room sounded like it was underwater; distant and muffled. Neville fell, his eyes still staring up at him. Others now turned. Some screamed, some pulled wands. Oliver turned to George Weasley; the redhead was practically lunging for him, the beginnings of a spell coming from his lips.

Oliver beat him to it. _"Avada Kedavra!"_

His sister Ginny had been right next to him. Oliver felt horror; real, absolute _terror_ as he realized all of his efforts to move in some other fashion, to do something other than point his wand at her were absolutely fruitless. He tried to keep telling himself he was only dreaming. It didn't help.

**"Not my daughter, you bastard!"**

Breifly, he was thankful when his arm diverted from Ginny. Less so when he realized it was now aiming for her mother, who, much like George, simply could not manage to act faster than he did. _"Avada Kedavra!"_

The dreamscape shifted just as green light hit Molly Weasley dead-on. Gone was the great hall, replaced by the dark trees of a thick forest - the Forbidden Forrest, he wondered? - where a solitary man stood in a single patch of light. His head was turned down, so Oliver couldn't see his face despite the illumination.

Bodies were splayed out around him in a rough circle, but Oliver couldn't see any faces. Try as he might to look at them, his eyes would always go back to the man standing in the middle. When that man looked up, Oliver felt himself jump; he was staring at himself, but it wasn't a mirror image. The red of his double's Gryffindor Quidditch robes was darker than it should be, and the eyes...the eyes were solid red. The Not-Oliver thing was holding Katie's wand. "What's the matter? Don't you like it here?"

Unable to answer, Oliver found himself backing away in sheer terror. Close to screaming in fright, Oliver bolted away from his Other, seeking refuge in the forest He didn't get more than ten steps when the _crack_ of an inbound apparration echoed off the trees and red eyes were staring at him again.

With a yelp, he turned ninety degrees on the spot, felt his feet slide on the dirt, and ran in the new direction. Again, he didn't get far, but his Other didn't appear from nowhere, he was simply keeping up, leaping towards a tree as Oliver ran by it. It called after him, and Oliver was less scared by this than by the fact that its voice sounded no different from his own. "You can't run from me, Oliver!"

* * *

When Oliver woke up, he bolted upright, screaming the whole way. His throat was trying to get out the word "No!" and failing miserably on account of being dry. He felt so thirsty it wasn't even funny, and he'd sweat through his nightshirt.

He was not in bed like he expected to be. The blankets were hanging halfway off, a result, and Oliver was sitting up on the floor. Trying to catch his breath, he realized his arms felt sore, and when he looked down, he saw why. They were crossed so tightly over his chest that the muscles were strained. His knuckles were white with the grip his fingers had on Katie's wand. _How...how did I...did I sleepwalk..._

Something else worried him beyond all of that, though. Before he even tried to figure the nightmare out, before he even thought of changing his clothes, he forced his legs to support his weight, though he ended up wobbling a little. Unable to tell if he was unsteady from the fact that his heart was beating so fast or if he was just plain _scared,_ Oliver nevertheless replaced Katie's wand on the bureau and made it to the living room, where his phone sat on the table. Clicking the menu button frantically, he searched through for Percy's number. He'd never saved it; he had to find it on the 'received calls' list.

Finally finding it, he clicked the 'Call' button and held the phone to his ear, desperately impatient with every sound of the tone. "C'mon, c'mon, Percy, answer, answer for Merlin's sake..."

Eventually, the ringing stopped, and a groggy "Hello?" came over the phone.

Oliver could've jumped for joy already, even though he never saw Percy in his dream. His voice sounded "Percy! It's Oliver! Just listen to me, is your family okay?"

"What," Percy began. Oliver cut him off, violently.

_"Is your family okay, dammit!_ Check, you have to check!"

"Oliver, what," Percy was now fully awake, "Wait a minute." Oliver heard a sound that must've been Percy putting the phone down, followed by Percy getting out of bed. The delay was maddening, but Oliver took comfort in the knowledge that Percy must've been at the Burrow, that he was just sneaking around so as not to wake anyone. He was greatly releived when Percy finally picked the phone back up. "Everyone's fine, Oliver. What's going on?"

"N-nothing," Oliver said. Now that there was no crisis anymore, as if there'd ever been one, he had no idea what to do with his adrenaline high. "I'm sorry I woke you, I...I just had a bad dream, freaked me out, I...I'll let you go back to sleep, I'm sorry."

Hanging up, Oliver was relieved when Percy didn't try to call him back. He went into the bathroom to splash water on his face, then back into the bedroom to look at his alarm clock. It was four in the morning; he had to be up in an hour to get ready for the first day of practice.

Deciding that he wasn't going to let a nightmare get the better of him, Oliver reset his alarm to five-thirty. After chugging down the contents a water bottle from the fridge, he refilled it before moving on. Setting his Puddlemere robes out in the living room so he wouldn't have to spend time on it later, Oliver set off to shower now instead of going back to sleep first.

"Just a nightmare, Oliver." Stopping in front of the bathroom mirror before getting that far, Oliver spent a good, long time staring at the reflection. He looked into his own eyes, trying hard to see any indication of his Other from the dream, fearing that with any random blink, he might open his eyes and find red ones staring back. "Just a nightmare..."


	8. Gaping Hole

**Oliver Wood and the Muggleborn's Wand  
**Chapter 8  
_Alhazred - ssjDOTalhazredATgmailDOTcom - alhazredDOTlivejournalDOTcom  
Not For Profit work. Harry Potter and related materials © J.K. Rowling._  
Big thanks to Zach who continually helps with British and Scottish regionalism details, especially in this chapter, despite being neither himself.

With the season fast approaching, Oliver had noticed the intensity of practice going steadily up. Coach Murphy was really running them ragged. Puddlemere United's first game of the season was going to be against the Tutshill Tornados. They had rebuilt their team enough to compete after all, but Oliver was confidant. How well could they possibly do with what must have been the biggest case of a patchwork group ever, against a team that had only needed one replacement?

_And I'm not a terrible replacement, if I do say so myself._

Regardless of his excitement, Oliver was exhausted. He'd taken more glancing blows from the bludgers than he'd have liked, and he had the bruises to show for it. One had very nearly knocked him off his broom, and he was still surprised he didn't have broken ribs from it.

As sore as he was, Oliver didn't hit the showers with most of the team; he opted instead to apparate home instead of taking his usual flight. He just wanted to get out of the Quidditch gear and sleep for an hour before doing anything else.

Appearing perfectly inside his living room, Oliver took a deep breath and let himself un-tense. He was still a little wound-up. The adrenaline high was gone but his body hadn't gotten used to the fact that it wasn't playing the game anymore. His hand was holding his broom to the point where the knuckles were white.

As such, he was a little surprised when a knock came at his door. It was pretty bizarre timing, after all. Without thinking, Oliver reached for the doorknob, only to find that the door wouldn't open when he pulled. "Son of a...I really should break this habit." Frustrated but still not thinking, he pulled his wand from inside his robes. _"Alohamora!"_

Tucking it away, he tried again, and the door opened easily, revealing Jessica on the other side. "Oliver," she squeaked, as if something had caught her tongue halfway through.

"Huh?" He wondered why she was looking at oddly, until he looked down at himself and remembered he hadn't changed. The broom in his hand probably didn't help. "Oh," he looked back up at her, as if everything was fine. "I just got in from practice."

It certainly worked better than he thought it would, if her response was any indication. "Oh! I guess Curling's a little more...trendy than I thought," she eyed his robes up and down. "Um, anyway. I was wondering if you'd like to go out for a pint. Conner had to ditch me, got called into work."

Taking a good, long moment to wrap his brain around the fact that he was standing in front of his Muggle friend in his Quidditch robes, and that his little white lie was still working, Oliver made a note to read up on Curling. It _had_ to be good, if it was a Muggle sport that made a Quidditch uniform seem normal. "Called...into work?"

"Yeah," she nodded.

Chuckling, Oliver shook his head slightly. "Sorry...It's not...it's just, I can't see that really being a place where the workers need to be on call."

It was obvious that she'd also seen the humor in this, apparently before he'd said anything. If anything, she was thrilled that Oliver shared the sentiment. "I know! You'd think he was just making an excuse to run off, but that's the owner, a little off his rocker."

"Right," he said, still grinning. "Um. Just let me change, I'll be right back..."

Oliver didn't just change into his Muggle clothes, he threw a quick charm over himself to clean up a little. It did nothing for the bruises still forming across his chest and face, but it got rid of a lot of sweat, so he wasn't smelling halfway between a sock and the River Piddle, where Puddlemere's pitch sat.

Tossing his arm guards to the floor on top of his robes, Oliver fished out a clean shirt from his bedroom closet. His head popping through the top, he caught site of the single Muggle picture in the room, sitting on his bureau. Staring back at him without motion, Katie had her ever-present smile.

It was the first time Katie's picture had Oliver feeling self-conscious. This was, he figured, halfway to a date. Jessica reminded him of Katie; they weren't very alike, but she had the exact same hair. It was such a small detail, it should've been insignificant, and Oliver always, _always_ felt foolish every time he thought of it.

It didn't stop him from spending time with Jessica whenever she knocked on the door, though. Wondering, honestly, if this counted as a crush or if he was just being creepy, Oliver said to Katie's picture, "You...you wouldn't mind, right?"

Not that he expected an answer. Tearing himself away, sparing himself one last glance at Katie, Oliver met Jessica in the hall.

He was more than a little self-conscious that he couldn't put the locking charm on his door, what with her standing right there, but he managed. It hurt to walk, mostly because he'd been sitting down on an airborne broom for most of practice and his legs were stiff as opposed to bruised.

Because of this, what she said next was music to Oliver's ears. "You wouldn't mind a drive, would you? My car?"

"Absolutely not," he almost laughed. "I'd rather stay _off_ my feet for the rest of the day." He'd never seen her car; driving around was simply not an issue that had come up, considering anything of interest that friends would usually go out to was within walking distance of where they lived. He knew she and Conner went to Muggle nightclubs every now and again, but that wasn't really to Oliver's taste. "I don't own a car, actually...would you believe I don't have a liscence?"

_"Really?"_ She actually stopped walking and turned to look at him, further bemused by the sheepish look on his face. His own embarrassment abolished the possibility that he just meant he didn't have a license because it needed to be renewed. "How do you get around?"

"Eh," he shrugged, "I live close to where practice is." Technically, he didn't feel like it was a lie. The River Piddle was reachable by broomstick, and he often flew down instead of apparating. "Truth be told I've wanted to learn, just haven't had a good reason."

"Hey, Conner and I can teach you," she answered, her eyes practically lighting up. There was an evil little twinkle in the look she gave him, as if the subject matter wasn't nearly as enticing as the idea of teaching something, especially something that most people their age already knew. "We'll have a blast."

He spent the ride intricately watching the driver's side, wondering how on Earth she kept track of everything. Muggle technology was so weird sometimes, all that trouble for simple transportation. Then again, it couldn't be any worse than the multitasking for Quidditch.

It was a short ride. Jessica's pub of choice was the King's Head. It would've been a fifteen minute walk, at most, but it was only a three-minute drive. Oliver had been out for a drink with Jessica, Conner or both of them before, but they usually frequented a smaller, more stereotypically pub-like establishment on Station Road. The King's Head was larger, a restaurant with a bar instead of a bar crammed into a tiny space.

They sat at the bar, and Oliver followed Jessica's lead. He still preferred butterbear over the Muggle equivalent - not being a heavy drinker, he didn't know the difference between Jack Daniels and Firewhiskey - but he nevertheless said "I'll have the same" when she asked the bartender for Spitfire.

"I don't really like the taste," said Jessica. She seemed a little sheepish about it. "To be honest, I just like their ads. 'Downed all over Kent just like the Luftwaffe' and all that. Yeah, I'll buy into anything if it's clever, you know?"

Nodding, Oliver threw her a smile, not wanting her to realize that he didn't understand the joke. He decided honesty was a good way to go. "Me neither, actually...so we're sitting here drinking something we don't like just for an excuse t'jaw through the afternoon. What's that say about us?"

"That we're idiots like the rest of the country," she said. Mug in hand the second the bartender returned, she added, "Cheers, eh?"

Mugs clacking, they drank. Oliver had scarcely come up for air when their conversation was rudely intruded upon from behind, a voice that was _very_ full of itself saying, "Well well, small world, isn't it, Jess?"

Whereas Oliver turned to look, Jessica spun on her stool fairly quickly, the look on her face turning sour. Oliver knew something was wrong, especially when she said, "Oh, you," in a tone that was not at all thrilled. The man who'd spoken was a waiter; his nametag read 'David.'

David was tall and handsome, but the look in his eyes was one Oliver had seen many times before in the eyes of Marcus Flint. It didn't bode well for his personality, and what he said next drove the point home. "Christ, girl, you say that like you don't even remember me!"

"Yeah," she turned back around, intending to give him a cold shoulder. "Wish I didn't."

He didn't like that at all, but she seemed surprised that he would go to the length of grabbing her by the arm to force her into facing him again, yelling "Hey!" as he did it.

Whether or not David was concerned with starting a scene at his own workplace, Oliver didn't care. He slid off the stool and got into his face, no small feat considering his lack of height. "Let go, Lad."

Not taking Oliver very seriously, David didn't grow intimidated, and practically ignored him in favor of hurling more words at Jessica. "What's he, your pimp?"

She slapped him with her free hand, making enough noise to draw the attention of anyone who hadn't looked over when he'd shouted. Shocked, he let go, and she took the chance to slide off the stool and head for the door.

Oliver followed, backpedeling until he was well out of arm's reach. The glare he sent didn't stop David from yelling, "I'll see you again!" His voice sounded poisonous, and a little crazy.

Taking the time to turn around and clearly flip him off, Jessica kept going. She made it into her car before Oliver did, and once he'd sat down and closed the door, she spared a glance at the door they'd just walked out of.

Once it became apparent that David wasn't following them out, she let out a breath and almost dropped her head onto the steering wheel. As it was, she wasalready hanging onto it for dear life with both hands. "I am so..._so_ sorry about that."

"Friend of yours?" Oliver blinked. He felt like an idiot as soon as he heard the words, wishing he'd come up with something that wasn't completely tactless.

"My ex," Jessica managed to roll her eyes. "Used to be a nice guy. Really. He was a totally different person when I met him. Now," she glanced at the King's Head door again, "I really don't know what happened to him...now he just can't stand that the world doesn't resolve around him."

Putting two and two together, Oliver said, "So...you left him, then?" At her nod, he went on. "And he..."

"Didn't take it well," she finished. She looked like she would've cried if she'd been alone. "I'm really sorry."

"S'okay," Oliver waved a hand. "Believe me, I know how you feel. Go ahead and drive, get away from the idiot."

It was a silent drive again, Oliver using the few minutes to contemplate if he really _did_ know how she felt.

He actually hadn't noticed they were back until she stopped. Jessica was obviously feeling awkward, and Oliver wasn't really sure how to make her feel better. He waited for her to do anything, and when she talked again instead of getting out of the car, he let her say what she wanted to. "So you've got a psycho-ex somewhere too?"

"Huh?" He hadn't quite expected that.

"Sorry," she said again, letting her seatbelt loose. "That was a little blunt..."

"It's okay," he said. His eyes wandered away from her, to the trees lining the building's lawn. "No, I don't, actually...I was engaged, love of my life, but...she died..."

Looking more than a little surprised, Jessica made a point of getting out. "Oh, shit. Hell, and I'm sitting here being depressed over my bad relationships."

"No," Oliver followed her. He leaned over the roof of the car, arms crossed on top. He had to stand on his toes. "No, I didn't mean it like that, just...pain's universal sometimes, I think."

"Heh." Amused in a twisted kind of way, she added, "You know, first time the three of us went out for drinks, Conner got all dramatic later and told me how you have the same look in your eyes all the war vets who go to that store have."

"I," he began. How was he supposed to say he _was_ a war vet, technically speaking, without saying too much. "I'd rather not go there just yet. It hasn't been long enough."

With a nod, she finally locked her door and closed it, heading for her flat after sparing Oliver one last glance. "Well, thank you for the thoughts. I appreciate it."

Feeling like saying 'anytime' would be somehow tacky, Oliver waved at her one more time and went inside. Putting his usual locking charm on the door into his flat, he made for the shower, and took a moment to stare at himself in the bathroom mirror.

He couldn't help but wonder if red eyes in dreams were symbolic for anything.


	9. I'm Not Drivin' Anymore

**Oliver Wood and the Muggleborn's Wand  
**Chapter 9  
_Alhazred - ssjDOTalhazredATgmailDOTcom - alhazredDOTlivejournalDOTcom  
Not For Profit work. Harry Potter and related materials © J.K. Rowling._

"Okay, now, turn the...yep, that should about do it..."

Parallel parking was interesting, to say the least, but Oliver didn't think Muggle driving was as hard as it was cracked up to be. He supposed it was a sign of Quidditch showing its presence again; keeping track of everything on the road wasn't so different than keeping track of everything in the pitch. On top of that, it was certainly less stressful than being in combat.

Granted, when they first started hours ago, Conner had been in the front passenger's seat and Oliver had been having trouble getting a handle on putting pressure down on the gas pedal. There'd been a lot of lurching. Followed by Conner bailing into the back and perpetually hanging onto the handle over the window, leaving Jessica to ride shotgun.

All in all, though, Oliver thought he was doing a good job. The major difference between a car and a broom, other than the lack of flight, was having to deal with controls. Once he got used to that, things became easier. "You think I'm ready for the test, then?"

Leaning forward between the front seats, Conner said, "How many wheels are on a bicycle?"

"Uh, two?" Oliver blinked. He really wasn't all that sure. It was hard enough keeping track of everything on a car, let alone _unpowered_ Muggle contraptions.

Adding "Yeah, I'd say you're set," Conner ducked back when Jessica moved to smack him.

"Well, now that the crash course is done," Jessica said, "And I don't mean that literally...anyone up for a drink? Preferably _without _the nutter-ex this time?"

She spared Oliver the slightest glance, although Conner's reaction was much more surprised. When he spoke up, rather shocked, Jessica looked like she wished she hadn't said anything in front of him. "Nutter-ex? Ollie's got a nutter-ex, or is this Dave we're talking about?"

He was quite prepared to cover for her, but she didn't feel the need to hide anything. She also sounded very exasperated. "No, no, we're talking about David, we ran into him the other day, it wasn't pleasant, you know the story..."

"Fucking hell, I know the story," Conner sat back with a great _thump_ against the seat, raising his voice to be clearly heard. "What did he do this time? Take a swing at you in public?"

"Conner!" She turned, glaring at him. Fairly certain that there was more to this story than he knew at this point, Oliver watched silently as she kept going. "No, he just made a scene, is all."

It wasn't hard for Oliver to put two-and-two together. It was a shocking revelation for him; he hadn't been expecting this to go somewhere worse than what he'd seen at the King's Head. "But..._has_ he hit you?"

Rolling her eyes, Jessica didn't seem like she was remembering traumatic physical abuse, but she didn't seem very proud of herself, either. She said nothing, leaving Conner to fill in the blank. "He tried."

"He missed," she chuckled. The laugh was genuine. "He's really just a sad poser. Thinks he's all that."

Growing indignant, Conner added, "Didn't think he was all that when I decked him for trying. Stupid git never thinks anyone around him might not take kindly to his bull."

Oliver understood why Jessica was so close to Conner. He and Katie had helped each other in battle on numerous occasions over the last year, and once had been enough to tighten their relationship. "Huh. No wonder it was easy to stare him down. Or rather, stare him up."

For a second, Oliver was worried his attempt at a joke hadn't gone over well, but they both laughed in the end. Even if they were only humoring him, it was alright. Lame jokes became funnier as they drank more, anyway.

Eventually, though, Oliver switched to water. It didn't go unnoticed by Conner. "You the one Scotsman in a thousand who can't hold his liquer well, eh?"

"Nah," Oliver gave him a good leer. "But I _do_ have practice in the morning."

"Yeah, and I need to drive us home," Jessica added. She shoved her half-empty mug towards the center of their table. "Better quit myself."

Feeling awkward being the only one without a reason to stop drinking, Conner followed her lead. "Both sadly logical excuses. Wouldn't want to throw the Curling Stone at someone by accident, right?"

_Curling has stones?_ Oliver thought. What kind of sport _was_ it, anyway? Besides, he wasn't a Beater, he was a Chaser, and he tugged the bottom of his shirt up over his abdomen to prove it. His right side was a nice shade of purple. "Like I need to. Bludgers take enough chunks out of us."

Apparently surprised, Jessica stared at the sizeable bruise in near-shock. "Whoa. What's Curling turned into over the last few years, anyway?"

Hearing the word 'Curling' again made Oliver realize he'd slipped up, and he quickly dropped his shirt. "Well, you know, everything's more intense these days." He was nursing his glass of water like it was booze, a far-away look in his eyes. He knew it was mostly the alcohol, that it would probably go away once he came down from the buzz, but he couldn't help but think of Katie. They hadn't gone to a pub together more times than he could count on his fingers, but he was just out of his right mind enough to start making connections with everything. He couldn't stop staring at Jessica's hair, to the point where he rested his arms on the table and his chin on top of them.

She eventually gave him a weird look over it. "What?"

"Nothing, it's just," he stopped cold. Should he say something? Would it feel better to talk about it? Even to friends he hadn't known long, to Muggles he couldn't talk about the war with?

Jessica was reading his mind, it seemed. "Is this about..."

He knew she trailed off on purpose, and he appreciated the courtesy, but he went ahead. "You have her...my fiance, I mean. You have her hair."

Conner, having not been there when he'd mentioned something about Katie, wasn't afraid to show his confusion at a man comparing a friend to his own fiancée for seemingly no reason. "Well..._that's_ kind of a creepy thing to see in someone, Ollie..."

Oliver could tell Jessica had smacked his leg under the table, but it wasn't his fault, he didn't know. Unable to stop, Oliver said, "She died...my fiancée, I mean. She was...right in front of me. It...wasn't an accident." Much as he hated to admit it, the sheer amount of pity in their faces felt good. Feeling like he'd gone far too long keeping the memory of that night as his own to deal with, Oliver couldn't turn down an outlet. He was still staring at Jessica, though. "And I just...I know it's stupid and..._weird,_ I just can't help thinking about her..."

Conner, for his part, was more dumbstruck than Jessica was. That, plus the alcohol, led to his latest attack of tactlessness. "What happened?"

She smacked him again. Oliver, for his part, didn't mind all that much. It was natural to be curious, and it wasn't like it was something one heard every day. Or even every _other_ day. He wished he could tell them the truth, if for no other reason than he hated lying after bearing his broken soul and being given compassion for it. Still, there was no exception in the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy for such things, only for necessary defense. Oliver's life was hardly in danger; his mental health, possibly, but not his life.

He knew what to say already, though...the _Wizard's Guide to Muggle Living_ had advice for Muggle substitutes to wizarding problems. "It's alright...she, um...crazy guy with a gun, just...just that."

He really wasn't trying to tell the lie and move on, he just couldn't think of anything to add. Even knowing it'd been the Killing Curse in the middle of a war, he couldn't shake the feeling of how _pointless_ it was.

"Well." Conner summarily gave up on his 'no more booze' rule for the night, and went for his still half-full mug. "I'll just shut my bloody mouth, now."

"S'alright," Oliver said. He was tempted to go back to the beer himself, but he fought the urge. No, he hadn't worked so hard to get where he was to even have _one_ moment of weakness with something like that. _Kate would smack me upside the head._ "Talking's part of the healing process, right?"

He wondered if they knew he was asking them, because he certainly didn't feel better yet. Watching Jessica grab for her cell phone and turn it off, Oliver recognized the look on her face, it was the same face he wore every time his parents tried to call. He knew David had been calling her off and on since their little incident, and it was aggravating her to no end. She didn't have a problem vocalizing this. "Damned...you'd think he's _watching_ me to pick the worst times to harass me at."

Wondering if she might be on to something, Oliver scanned the bar, looking for him. He wasn't there, but he wouldn't have been surprised either way. Life was weird like that.

For his part, Conner took the chance to maneuver out of the conversation that had made him incredibly self-conscious. "I'm telling you...get a restraining order on the guy. Let him get tossed in jail. It'll give him a reality check right-quick."

Looking unsure, Jessica seemed unable to escape the age-old feeling that the bad, potentially serious problem would go away if she just ignored it. "Maybe. I'll...think about it."

Wondering how Muggle restraining orders worked, Oliver thought about how hard it might be to shrewdly lay a jinx on it. Nothing too serious, just something with physical effects if it were violated. "Hey...if _that_ doesn't work...just punch the guy."

The other two stared at him, and, after a short time, the staring turned into laughter. Oliver felt like this was home.


	10. Interval:02

**Oliver Wood and the Muggleborn's Wand**

Chapter 10  
_Alhazred - ssjDOTalhazredATgmailDOTcom - alhazredDOTlivejournalDOTcom  
Not For Profit work. Harry Potter and related materials © J.K. Rowling._

Quidditch season was fast approaching, and Oliver couldn't have been happier. He was so thrilled at the prospect of Puddlemere's first game, a game he would be doing more in than sitting in the reserve box, he couldn't help but grin all the time.

Even now, after practice, he was smiling to himself. He'd opted to fly home and enjoy the great weather. There was hardly a cloud in the sky, and he could see the stars were right just as clearly as he could see Britain passing by underneath. Muggle planes flew overhead sometimes; one didn't get to be a professional Quidditch player by not knowing the best, safe cruising height for long broom travel.

Practice wasn't getting any easier, but Oliver loved it. As tired as he could be later in the day, he lived for it, even for the occasional bludger hit. Fortunately, he'd avoided that particular problem on this particular day.

Bludgers weren't the only things a wizard on a broom needed to worry about, though. Oliver was so enthralled in his thoughts of glorious Quidditch that he never saw the other flyer coming, only felt the gust of turbulence as he was buzzed. Whoever it was, they were obviously incredibly reckless, if not malicious. Nearly losing his hold on his broom, Oliver tightened his grip and yelped, throwing his weight over to steady himself out before he flipped.

Dark red robes fluttered out of his eyesight just as he steadied out. Looking around frantically, Oliver became worried when he couldn't see anyone. Clouds had rolled in from nowhere, and the ground was gone, as well.

The same spot of color came again at the corner of Oliver's eye, but when he turned to look, the other rider was already swooping under him and out of sight through the clouds.

Far ahead, the clouds rippled out while the broom rider rose, slowly gaining altitude at first, and then rocketing straight up. Oliver watched the man's blood-colored Quidditch robes fan out as he abruptly stopped; he let his legs leave the broom instead of holding on, keeping one hand held onto the very end as he flipped over. For a brief moment he hung there, as if one-hand-standing on the tip of his broom, silhouetted so perfectly against the full moon that it had to have been done intentionally.

When gravity kicked in, the man fell gently around to the other side of his broom, re-mounting it but now facing in the opposite direction. Staring into red eyes, Oliver abruptly realized he was dreaming. "This...you...can't be real. This has to be going on in my head..."

His Other smiled at him. "That doesn't mean I'm not real."

He turned and zoomed off, going under the clouds. Feeling compelled to follow, Oliver dived down after him. The ground underneath the clouds was a dry, yellow desert, and the clouds vanished as soon as Oliver was through. The sun was out, almost high-noon, his Other zooming about so low that he was kicking up sand.

Oliver followed, weaving around the boulders and into crevasses as the doppleganger led on. He started gaining and reached out, feeling compelled to touch his red-eyed reflection, feeling as though doing so would bring rationality to his mind.

When his hand was only a few inches away, his Other turned to look at him. His face was not twisted with malice as it had been in the last dream, it really was like looking in a mirror.

Impassively, his other pulled a hand off his broom and pointed straight ahead. Looking where he was going, Oliver realized, all too late, that a very large rock was impeding his path. He yanked back, desperate for altitude, but it was far too late. The end of his broom met the rock and, at first, it seemed like Oliver would pivot end-over-end over it.

Then, the broom gave and snapped. It became meaningless, and Oliver crashed into the stone, thrown over it like a rag doll so fast that, when he eventfully hit the ground, he rolled several feet.

It didn't hurt. Oliver sat up, more to get the sun out of his eyes than anything. Looking down at himself, he realized he didn't have a scratch on him.

A gust if air kicking up around his broom, the Other landed next to him and dismounted. "You really should be more careful." He offered Oliver a hand up. "Of course, I suppose that's what I'm here for, isn't it?"

Oliver reached for him. Their hands clasped...and he woke up.

He didn't scream or nearly fall out of bed like last time, but he sat up and dropped his face into his hands, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He was beside himself with confusion. "What's _wrong_ with me..."


	11. Do Wizards Dream of Enchanted Sheep?

**Oliver Wood and the Muggleborn's Wand  
**Chapter 11  
_Alhazred - ssjDOTalhazredATgmailDOTcom - alhazredDOTlivejournalDOTcom  
Not For Profit work. Harry Potter and related materials © J.K. Rowling._

Oliver had never showered so fast in his life. He knew he was cutting his schedule for the day close, with practice ending very nearly when he had to be at his driving test, but it was all working out so far. He was more excited than anything. Changing into his Muggle clothes, pulling on his trainers and shrugging on his jacket all left him with a sense of needing to do _more,_ like he had more energy to burn even _after_ all of the fancy broomwork he'd been improving upon for many hours of the morning.

Being a Chaser was certainly more direct physical effort than being a Keeper, but he was up to that challenge. Still, he was grinning like a doofus, and it didn't go unnoticed by his teammates as they went about their business. Dollie, in particular, hadn't even made it to the shower yet. "Oi, Wood! What's the rush, anyway?"

Tugging at his laces one more time for good measure, Oliver said, "Just feels weird being around so many guys flaunting their nudity." Glancing up, Oliver was pleased with himself when he noticed his fellow Chaser straightening the towel around his waist. "Seriously? Promise not to laugh?"

"Okay," Dollie took on the patronizing tone now, "I promise I won't laugh..."

"Taking my Muggle driving test today," Oliver stood up, beginning the process of stowing his Quidditch gear into his bag. "Been studying all week."

"Ohhh, one of those." His tone of voice lightening considerably, Dollie seemed fascinated. "My brother did that, keeps trying to get me to do it..."

Puddlemere's Seeker, a thin, wiry girl who very much reminded Oliver of Harry Potter in terms of Quidditch, caught the conversation. She jumped right in. "Hey, Wood, don't be afraid to Confund the examiner! Not worth going through the whole thing over if you just miss something stupid, eh?"

"I'll...keep that in mind," said Oliver. He wondered if she spoke from personal experience.

Satisfied that everything was in order, Oliver threw his rucksack over his shoulder and headed out. Precisely one step out of the locker room, he apparated home.

It was mildly humid at Woodland Road. Oliver could see a light haze outside through the window, so he pulled the cuffs of his jacket down to his knuckles and buttoned it. He imagined it was going to start snowing soon. Setting his rucksack down, he left the flat, and looked both ways down the hall before he bewitched the door. _"Colloportus."_

Marching up one flight of stairs to the flat shared by Jessica and Conner, he knocked on the door...

...and was more than a little surprised when it budged; it wasn't closed. Confused, Oliver opened it slowly and took a step inside. "Guys? Jess, Conner?"

He knew something was wrong instantly. The flat had two rooms compared to his one, and the living room was larger. Jessica and Conner also had more furniture than Oliver did, and when he saw their glass coffee table completely shattered, it drove the point home. "Guys?!"

Pulling his wand, Oliver stalked through the living room and into the hall. Whatever was going on, he wasn't worried about any magic use he might find necessary to be in violation of the law. When he passed the kitchen, things got worse.

Conner lay sprawled on the floor, his head propped up against a cupboard. A trail of blood started halfway up to the counter and smeared down, ending close to where Conner's head had ended up. He had a violent gash on the side of his head, and it was still bleeding. Oliver practically dived onto the floor next to him. "What in..._Episkey!"_

The basic spell was the only healing magic he knew. It was apparently sufficient; the wound closed, and a good amount of the bruising around it faded away. Oliver knew he should've brought him to St. Mungo's...a Muggle hospital wouldn't do, he needed answers. Making a judgment call, Oliver decided to go for broke. "_Reenervate_!"

Conner startled awake, and Oliver figured he must've been more than a little confused, probably feeling like whatever had knocked him happened less than five seconds ago. He tried to lunge up at Oliver, but considering his position on the floor and the state of his head, Oliver restrained him easily. "Conner, _Conner!_ It's me!"

"Ollie?" He blinked, raising a hand to the side of his head. The look on his face slowly turned from surprise to pained . "Ohhh...for a headache like this I should've at least gotten hammered..."

"Conner," Oliver nudged him, "What _happened?_"

The question seemed to bring Conner out of his stupor; Oliver could see it in his eyes, as the memories came flooding back. Again, he tried to get up, albeit in a more cooperative manner. Oliver helped him stay steady as he rose. "Fuck! That fucking nutter came at me with a fucking baseball bat!"

Oliver didn't need to ask which nutter he was talking about, especially considering his next question. "Where's Jess?"

"Oh, shit." Terrified, Conner stumbled out of the kitchen, as if he hoped that Oliver's question _didn't_ mean that she was nowhere to be found. He moved "Shit, I don't know! She was behind me when..."

It really wasn't hard to figure it out. The feeling Oliver had in his stomach as he put the pieces together made him want to deny it, made him wish as hard as he could that it wasn't true. It wasn't possible, though. There was a struggle, Jessica wasn't in the flat, and her roommate had been left unconscious. Maybe even left for dead. "He took her."

It was automatic; they both broke into a dead run, the situation sobering Conner up enough for him to at least stay on his feet. Oliver hoped he had a better idea of where they were going to go as they started down the stairs. "You know where he could've gone?"

"I know where he lives," Conner was gasping for breath already, his stamina severely worn down by the blow he'd taken to the head, but it didn't stop him. "Only place I can think of..."

Trusting him on this, Oliver followed him to his car. He was betting that the way Conner and Jessica talked about David not being _nearly_ as notable of a person as he liked to think meant he was also dimwitted. That way, it was actually fairly likely that they were on the right track.

The hazy fog outside made the drive seem ominous. Oliver started to wonder what could happen if they were wrong, what he might get away with if they didn't find him in the next few minutes. "Cops, we should call the cops."

One hand off the wheel to reach for his pocket, Conner suddenly became angry. "Fuck, fuck, I forgot he smashed my fucking phone when I went for it..."

That feeling in Oliver's stomach was getting more unpleasant. He _never_ brought his phone with him to practice, there was no point. "Mine's...mine's at home..."

Cursing again, Conner didn't let it deter him. "If he's not there we'll bang on someone's door...not like people don't do the smart thing and not answer their doors when they don't know who it is..."

The double-meaning in that statement wasn't lost on Oliver, but he contemplated it in silence. As Conner's driving started to verge on 'wreckless,' he pulled his seatbelt on, suddenly realizing that he was going to have to reschedule his driving test.

It was certainly an odd, random thought to have, but he ignored it. There was a more important thought entering his mind; the fact that he needed to consider what was going to happen if they actually _found_ Jessica and her ex, especially if he was still armed with a large, blunt object. There was a certain amount of inevitability in what Oliver would be doing, especially considering the distinct lack of Muggle police they now faced. "Conner, I need to ask you something."

"Yeah?" He didn't spare Oliver a glance, taking a turn at an intersection through a red light. It was a miracle they weren't being pulled over.

"This is going to sound weird, but can you keep a secret?"

This time, Conner glanced over, but only briefly. "What?"

"Yes or no," Oliver said. "Don't ask me to explain. If we find them and something, say, _weird_ happens, can you keep it secret?"

This might not have been an effective way of dealing with the issue, because how did someone swear they could keep magic a secret when they didn't know it existed? Still, Oliver had to try. He didn't want to resign himself to the idea that he was going to have to report his friends to the Ministry so a qualified wizard could work some memory charms. As such, he was slightly uplifted when Conner said, "Sure, why not? Fucker, that's his car!"

David's car was parked badly in the little driveway to his house. It wasn't a bad place or a bad neighborhood, really, though it was a sparsely populated stretch. Oliver figured he must've lived with his parents, though it was doubtful they were home. Conner came to an unceremonious, screeching stop at the curb, and they practically dived out.

The second they were out, sound reached their ears; someone screaming, and someone else swearing. The screaming sounded a lot like it was coming from Jessica, and both sounded like they were coming from in back. Oliver followed Conner around, catching up as they rounded the corner into the backyard.

Even through the fog, they could _just_ see the door slamming shut. Conner managed to bound up the stairs and onto the back porch, tugging at the doorknob uselessly. "He had to think to lock it!"

Stepping back, he looked quite prepared to charge and break it down, even at the risk of exacerbating his head injury. Oliver beat him to this, though. Shoving Conner to one side, he yanked his wand from his pocket and pointed it straight for the door. _"Alohamora!"_

"What?"

He was sure Conner would say that word again, several times, in the near future. As far as right now was concerned, Oliver didn't stop. As soon as the click sounded from the door, Oliver took one step towards it and kicked it open. He hit it so hard that it slammed into the inside wall louder than it had slammed shut to begin with.

Charging into the kitchen, Oliver was just in time to see David shove Jessica rather violently into a chair near the table, baseball bat in one hand. He was so busy screaming obscenities at her, he hadn't even noticed Oliver had charged in.

When that bat came up, Oliver had quite enough. It was bad enough he was screaming about how she deserved this for not answering when he called her. That he was actually about to go through with the act sent him over the edge. _"Expelliarmus!"_

Finally, David noticed something was wrong. His weapon flying clear out of his hand and crashing to the floor on the other side of the room was enough to get him to spin around and see what was going on.

_"Incarcerous!"_ Watching the rope spring from his wand and tie the man up, part of it nicely sealing off his mouth, Oliver felt a vindictive kind of satisfaction. That Jessica was fine no longer mattered. That she was staring at him and his wand as if the world had just gone mad didn't matter either. Watching David topple over and struggle, Oliver couldn't help but feel like this wasn't _nearly_ enough to teach him a lesson. "You think you're bad, eh? I'll _show you_ what bad is! _Crucio!_" It was strange, that a man screaming and writing in agony while his mouth was gagged could be such an utterly satisfying sight. _**"Crucio!"**_

Oliver was almost _fascinated,_ the way a man bound in ropes struggled to get away from the Cruciatus Curse. He tried to scream but couldn't, tried to roll away but could only twitch and thrash. It was like watching the end of some monster's long tentacle be severed as it continued to wiggle around.

Proud of discovering this interesting combination of spells, Oliver smiled at his friends, wondering at their thoughts on the matter. When he saw the looks on their faces, his wand fell out of his hand.

All at once, reality came rushing in. It felt like he'd warped in from another dimension; had he _really_ just done that? Had he really just used the Cruciatus Curse on a Muggle like that?

Backing up, Oliver made for one of the table's chairs. He missed, and landed on the floor, unable to look Conner or Jessica in the eye. Conner was standing in front of her, an arm holding her back as if she was trying to fight through. The looks on their faces told Oliver all he needed to know; they didn't need to know about magic to realize he'd just tortured a man.

David had blacked out just before Oliver dropped his wand. Oliver swallowed hard; he stared at it sitting on the floor not five feet away. Like it was for all wizards, his wand was a treasure to him, a priceless combination of Holly wood and a unicorn hair from Ollivander's. Right now, he couldn't bear to reach for it.

Seconds ticked by. Jessica and Conner eventually moved; she approached Oliver, unsure of what to say or do. Picking up the wand, Conner waved it about a few times, apparently trying to make more rope come out. "But it's just a stick..."

Oliver knew he should've taken it back, but he couldn't muster the will to stand up. Slowly, Jessica knelt down beside him. "Oliver?"

"I," he started to say. Staring at his hands, watching himself shake, Oliver felt ashamed of himself. "I...I can't believe I did that...that's not me...I don't...I don't _do_ that..."

"Bloody hell," Conner was still jabbing at the air with his wand. "Then what _do_ you do? Unlock doors and fire off silly string and," he looked closely at the wand's tip, careful to keep it pointed away from himself. "There's a taser in here, right?"

Not less than five minutes ago, Oliver had been more than prepared for this scene, for having to explain magic. Now, it was the thing he'd felt the least prepared for in his entire life. How was he supposed to explain magic and wizards when he'd just _shown_ them what Dark Wizards did to someone they didn't like? "It's...raining?"

The water hitting him from the nearby open window completely distracted Oliver. The sheer randomness of it struck him hard; sure, there'd been fog, but it had been bright out, without clouds in the sky above. Now, the sun was gone, and the drizzle seemed to gravitate towards the window.

Feeling somehow _wrong,_ Oliver finally stood up. He poked his head out the window, seeing the clouds up above blotting out the sun. They weren't very high, and that feeling was overpowering him. He was shaking not from what he'd just done anymore, but from simple, primal fear. When he look straight up, Oliver realized, all too late, that there was a _very_ good reason for it.

The Dementor skimmed down the side of the house, plowing through Oliver to dive in the window. It's black, tattered cloak whooshed by Oliver's eyes as he fell, gone from his sight by the time his back hit the floor.

He wished, he _prayed_ that it was gone entirely, but even as he began the process of standing up, he knew it wasn't true. The kitchen was darker, either from the sunlight being all blocked or because there was a Dementor in the room. Or, Oliver figured, a combination of both.

The looks on his friends' faces added to Oliver's despair; being Muggles, they couldn't see it, they could only _feel_ it, and they'd certainly seen him knocked flat on his arse. Jessica was backing towards a wall, Conner was rooted to his spot, Oliver's wand held out. He thought he could somehow defend himself with it. "What's...what's going on?"

Oliver said nothing. He didn't move, didn't _breath,_ he just watched the Dementor hover there, it's eyeless head moving about, looking at Jessica, then himself, before it turned to 'glance' at Conner.

He remembered seventh-year Defense Against the Dark Arts more clearly than anything else in his life, remembered Professor Lupin telling them that Dementors couldn't see, they could only _sense._ What was it trying to sense, then?

Nervously, Conner waved Oliver's wand out. He poked the Dementor as it was turning to Jessica again. Instantly, the dark creature sprang on him, grabbing him by the neck and holding on all the way to the ground. Conner, being assaulted by the air as far as he was concerned, yelped in shock.

"No," Oliver muttered. He tried to move, tried to will himself into action, but the Dementor's effect was bogging him down so much...what was the point? They already hated him, they'd probably turn him in for the Unforgivable Curse if anyone from the Ministry came knocking. And now, he couldn't save them. _Could I be anymore useless..._

"Oliver!" That was Jessica. He turned to her, and her face was still a mixture of fright and shock, but not because of him, anymore. She was begging, _pleading_ for an explanation, or, god willing, for him to _fix_ it. "What's going on?"

Looking back, the sight that greeted Oliver snapped him clear out of it. The Dementor still had Conner on the ground, wringing his neck. It was lowering itself down...it was going to kiss him. "Conner..._throw me the wand!_"

So very thankful that Conner could understand that one thing through everything he must've felt right then, so very thankful that he wouldn't have to get _closer,_ Oliver dived for his wand when Conner made a feeble attempt at throwing it from his place on the ground and it didn't quite reach. He pointed it and thought of Katie. "Expecto Patronum!"

Silver light formed at the tip...and then fizzled out. It seemed only natural to think of Katie's death, given the thing in the room. Or the look in her eyes when he kept trying to convince her that running from the Death Eaters was better than fighting.

That wasn't going to work. It wasn't going to work at all. Oliver bolted to his feet and pointed his wand again, banishing those thoughts from his mind. He thought of Quidditch and the game he would be playing, the actual, professional-level game, in less than a week. He thought of Fred Weasley, all the fun things he'd pulled at school with his brother. He thought of his Muggle friends and how they'd let him into their lives so kindly.

He thought of the night he proposed to Katie, and he didn't even remember the Death Eaters breaking down the door. _"Expecto Patronum!"_

And this time, it worked. The silver, iridescent sheep that he'd once seen dive out of Katie's wand now dove out of his own, charging straight for the Dementor and crashing into it so hard that it bounced off the wall.

Righting itself, the Dementor regarded his Patronus with caution, but it had nowhere to go. Flicking his wand, Oliver directed his charm to attack again; this time, the sheep charged the Dementor from the side, forcing it through the air and clear out the window.

Almost immediately, light returned to David's kitchen. The Dementor had clearly decided it had enough of that, and had gone.

Of course, this left Oliver in an interesting situation; in a room with an unconscious Muggle and two others watching his Patronus trot back and forth. Still, he couldn't help but be relieved, all things considered. "Wow...I guess all those N.E.W.T.s were worth it after all..."


	12. Rude Gestures

**Oliver Wood and the Muggleborn's Wand  
**Chapter 12  
_Alhazred - ssjDOTalhazredATgmailDOTcom - alhazredDOTlivejournalDOTcom  
Not For Profit work. Harry Potter and related materials © J.K. Rowling._

"Well?"

Feeling rather pleased with himself as he walked out, Oliver fished the piece of paper that would function as his temporary license out of his pocket. He was smiling. "I didn't even have to Confund the examiner."

He knew Jessica had no idea what a Confundus Charm was, but he also knew that she was smart enough to work with context clues, so he didn't insult her intelligence. He was, however, a little surprised when she hugged him. "Oliver, that's _great._"

"Thanks for coming with me," he said. "After yesterday...it was a lot of stress."

It was a pathetic excuse for his behavior, and he knew it. He imagined that, had she been a witch, her attitude towards him would've irrevocably changed the second she'd heard him say 'Crucio.'

"Yeah, a little," she said, somewhat sarcastic, somewhat serious. "And you _did_ promise to tell me more about magic, remember."

"Right," Oliver nodded. Conner hadn't gotten beyond 'magic is real' before he'd heard enough. There'd been something almost comical in the way he'd stormed off that made Oliver worry less than he felt like he should be worrying, but...still. Walking to Jessica's car, he found a set of keys being thrown at him.

"Go for it," she said. Hopping into the passenger's side, she reached to the back and, with a lot of stretching, yanked the red "L" off.

Putting his seatbelt on, Oliver couldn't help but feel accomplished. Even then, he couldn't go the entire drive without asking. "Does Conner hate me?"

"Oh, give that time," she answered. "He was raised in a really religious household, proud of being Protestant...sometimes he feels righteously indignant, sometimes he's just silly. He used to think you were Pagan."

_"Pagan,"_ Oliver almost missed stopping at a red light. "Magic isn't really a..."

"Well," she sighed, "You _do_ use 'Merlin' as a curse, that's a little weird...he'd always asked me if I heard it once you weren't around. And then, you know. The magic wand and the chanting and the ghost sheep."

"Hey, it's not my fault spells need incantations," he answered. "Non-verbal magic is _hard,_ you know...and my Patronus is not a ghost!" The word 'ghost' was forever associated with the ghosts of Hogwarts for him. He was sure there were nastier ghosts in the world, but after that time Percy had let him use the Prefect's bath and Moaning Myrtle had tried to molest him, well...the word just meant something different than it did for most people. "Sorry. Guess that one needs a little explaining."

"Is it...why is it a _sheep,_ though," she asked, as if she'd been dying to ask it all day. "Why does a sheep..._banish_ whatever was going on in that room?"

Of course, the simple answer to this question would've been a brief explanation of what a Patronus Charm did and what a Dementor was. It wasn't that simple for Oliver. "It's...complicated."

Getting out of the car, Oliver led her to his door. Trying to open it and failing miserably, he could feel his face turn red as he fumbled for his wand. "Eh heh...I really outta stop doing this, just being paranoid, really..._Alohamora._"

She seemed to take it in stride...a simple unlocking charm wasn't much compared to what she'd already seen. Taking off his jacket, Oliver tried to figure out where to start. He imagined that she would've liked him to start talking anytime now.

He decided to try being simple. "C'mon..."

He led her to his bedroom, and didn't say anything. Letting her walk in, Oliver simply watched as she realized what would be so interesting about it. "What's...wait a minute..."

He didn't have _that_ much stuff, but it was enough. His old Puddlemere United poster - he was certainly not in it - hanging next to a set of Gryffindor banners on the far wall near the window were more than enough to give it away. Two of the banners were enchanted to ripple about as if out in the wind, while the one in the middle switched off between saying 'Gryffindor!" and "With Courage and Honor!"

The somewhat outdated Puddlemere roster nudging about for camera space and waving every now and then really sent the point home, though. Cautiously, she walked around the bed. "Weren't you...weren't you afraid anyone would see this?"

"Nah," Oliver sat down. He reached for the nightstand, picking up a framed photograph. "Everything's bewitched so Muggles won't see it unless you already know about magic." At her raised eyebrow, he added, "Er...a Muggle is just someone non-magical. C'mere." Eager to change the subject, he motioned for her to sit down next to him. He hadn't meant to launch into personal memories instead of outright talking about magic, but it was all he could think of doing. "This was my team at school...this was...four years ago. I was team captain," he pointed at himself, and then to the surprise Seeker he'd had for his last three years at Hogwarts. "That's Harry Potter, right there, bit of a hero, killed the Dark Lord a few months back. That's...a whole different story, there was a war, see."

"War?" She repeated. It hadn't been something she'd been expecting, to say the least, and like any Muggle suddenly hearing 'there was a war,' her next question was automatic. "What war?"

Oliver really hadn't intended to go there. He'd been thinking he could talk about Hogwarts, which was, the Chamber of Secrets and the fiasco with Sirius Black notwithstanding, a harmless topic. "Um...it was bad. Real bad. You remember a few months back...even last year when a lot of bad things happened? I remember he knocked down a bridge, in the beginning he was threatening to kill Muggles left and right if the...well, it's a long story."

"That was," the look on Jessica's face told him she knew exactly what he was trying to think of. "That was a...wizard?"

"Yeah," Oliver said. Bad enough he'd thrown an Unforgivable Curse around in front of her, now he was giving her a History of Magic lesson by focusing on Voldemort. He went back to his team photo. "That's Fred Weasley...I think that's Fred, could never tell them apart. He died in battle." There was only one place to go from there. "That's...that's Kate. She got hit with a Killing Curse when we went to fight, right in front of me. Just...dropped." Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Jessica looking at the larger, stationary picture of Katie on the bureau. He knew she'd put it together if he didn't say anything anyway. He had to fight back tears. "We were going to get married, me and Kate...I, uh...I'm sorry, this can't be at all what you expected, I just didn't know where to start, and...big tough wizard I am, huh?"

He didn't really notice, but Jessica was as much at a loss for words as he was. "Oliver...I had no idea...you were _in_ the war? Are you, like...a soldier?"

"Hah," he actually laughed. "Hardly. I doubt I'd be much of an Auror. I didn't want anything to do with it at first, I thought Kate and I could just hide out until it was over...it wasn't like a war over countries is...He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named got into the government and used it to lord over everything without ever showing his face. It was like the thing that was supposed to protect everyone turned into this monster that would eat you alive."

After an awkward pause, she didn't even try to find a subtle way of changing the topic. Oliver's hand went slack and she took the photo in her own lest it hit the ground. She said, "So...where do you _learn_ all this stuff, anyway?"

He tried his best to put the war out of his mind. It helped that he knew she would find the answer a little silly, and he smiled. "We go to school, where else? I attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, class of ninety-four." At her incredulous look, he continued, "Sorted into Gryffindor House, a talking hat does that on your first day...Quidditch captain for four years, earned nine O.W.L.s my fifth year, that's a test for different subjects. Graduated with seven N.E.W.T.s, those are even harder tests. And seven, if I do say so myself, isn't too shabby, signed onto Puddlemere United as reserve Keeper, first game on the main team is this Saturday."

Letting the silly acronyms slide, Jessica said, "So...you're a _good_ wizard?"

"Well," Oliver said, "I figured I'd need to keep my options open. Professional athletes in any sport retire pretty early, right?"

"That's not what I meant," she said. She was too embarrassed to ask, thinking either it should've been obvious or it would've been insulting.

The tone in her voice wasn't lost on Oliver, though. "Oh...oh. Well, lately, I wonder...sometimes I have nightmares...Muggle soldiers sometimes have a hard time after they're in a fight, don't they? Maybe that's my problem...I don't...I don't go around _torturing_ people, I'm not usually like that, I..."

"Oliver," Cutting him off, she said, "I'm sorry, I didn't think you were, I just...don't really understand how this whole thing works, is all. Where do you even _get_ a magic wand?"

Wondering how to explain wizarding society in a simple manner, Oliver stumbled over words. "Well...it's like...wizards and Muggles aren't that different, you know? We get up in the morning, go to work, try to have fun..."

"But with magic," Jessica said. At his nod, she added, "And some wizards are bad news, like some...Muggles are chavs?"

"Right," Oliver said. "I have to see a friend of mine tomorrow, he works at the Ministry, he's going to take my statement about yesterday personally. You can come if you want, see a little of it...he won't mind as long as you're not planning to try telling the world."

Much like Oliver's rambling about his time in school, she found this amusing in an absurd kind of way. "Oliver, who in the world would believe me!"

"Yeah," he chuckled, "We rely on that a little. We buy our wands, by the way. Most of Wizarding Britain, Ireland and Scotland get wands from Ollivander, he's got a shop here in London, but it's on an all-wizard street. He's really good, he makes sure everyone gets a wand that works well for them before we start school," turning his wand over in his hand, Oliver used it as a distraction to avoid looking at Katie's picture again. "Kate's wand and mine are twins...we say that 'cause the cores are from the same place. Unicorn hairs from the same Unicorn. It's not totally unheard of, right? But we used to joke that it was a sign about how we were made for each other..."

He could see when Jessica said the word 'Unicorn' to herself was pretty stuck on the whole Unicorn thing; he hadn't thought of how talking about Unicorns like Muggles talked about dogs and cats would surprise her. Before he could say more on the subject, a knock came on the door. Jessica followed as he walked out of the bedroom, wand out. Pointing it at the door, Oliver realized that he'd never put the locking charm back on. Flustered, he opened the door. "Conner!"

Behind him, Jessica looked at her roommate over Oliver's shoulder. For his part, Conner did the same, before he tugged at his coat. It wasn't terribly warm outside, and he looked like he was fighting the urge to walk inside where there would be more heat in favor of standing there and glowering. "So, you, uh," he looked at Oliver, "You really _aren't_ on the Curling team, are you?"

"What?" Oliver blinked. From the way he shuffled his feet, Oliver wondered if this was his way of delivering a roundabout apology for leaving them to consider the whole magic thing in a rather crude manner. "Er...no, no I'm not."

Jessica, of course, knew Conner better than Oliver did. From her reaction, it seemed like this was part of the natural cycle he went through when he felt slightly wronged. She rolled her eyes, and she made sure he could see it. "Don't be dense, Conner. He plays Quidditch."

Passing him the picture, she didn't think anything of the moving people in it. Conner, however, did not handle this particular surprise well. Apparently, it was more frightful than the Dementor had been, because, a second after he took it with an air of apathy, he screamed and dropped it.

The picture wasn't visibly damaged, but the glass of the frame shattered spectacularly. Just as horrified, mostly because it had been partially her fault, Jessica couldn't help but stare at it, dumbstruck. Conner, for his part, didn't seem angry anymore. He was just _freaking_ _out_. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I just, holy shit, I wasn't _expecting_ that!"

Oliver's seventh year Quidditch team, now that they had recovered from jumping into each others' arms for protection, were all doing their best to give Conner some rude hand gestures. Even Harry, but he was distracted, hopping around the photo trying to catch the snitch he'd dropped in the fall.

Nudging his way behind Conner, Oliver shut the door and aimed his wand at the wreckage. "S'okay, wouldn't be much of a wizard if this was a problem. _Reparo._" Conner jumped when the glass flew back together. Just to get him back for the Pagan thing, Oliver didn't bend down to pick it up, he just flourished his wand again. _"Accio Picture."_

After it jumped from the floor to his waiting, empty hand, Oliver regarded his friends with as much casualness as he could manage. "What? So I'm good with charms...most wizards my age can't produce a Patronus at all, you know."

"The sheep," Jessica mouthed to Conner.

"Oh," Conner kept looking at Oliver without blinking. "What was going on there, anyway? What grabbed me? What's it got to do with sheep?"

For all the baggage associated with talking about the war, Oliver found it much easier to talk about this particular subject. He felt like he was channeling Professor Lupin. "It's called a 'Dementor.' Muggles...non-magical folk can't see them. They look like...a man without legs, they float around dressed like Death, and they feed on misery. If you're in the room with one, it's like they suck the happiness right out of you." Oliver noticed Jessica shuddering at the memory. "If they kiss you, they'll eat your soul and leave the body empty."

After considering this for a moment, Conner, who seemed to figure out that he'd been much closer to the 'kiss' part than he dared imagine, blurted out, "And a _sheep_ gets rid of them?"

"Well, the Patronus," Oliver was absolutely not going to get specific about the sheep; it was bad enough that it had something to do with Katie, and he really, really wanted to avoid sheep jokes about being Scottish. "It's really the exact opposite...it's so hard to conjure, because you have to think of something happy, happiest memory you've got, really, and focus on that, and you have to do it while you feel that thing nearby..."

"Oh," Conner said, again. Eager to talk about something that wasn't as serious or blatantly frightening, he changed the topic. "Right, then. What the hell's 'Quidditch,' anyway?"

He half looked at Jessica as he said it, but she gave him a shrug and a look that questioned why he would think she knew this. He didn't feel a need to remind her that she'd been the one to say it.

"Quidditch is," Oliver scrubbed a hand through his hair, again trying to think of a simple explanation that wouldn't take an hour. "It's kind of like football. Only...it's also kind of like that sport...what's the one...basketball. And in the air on brooms." When they both looked at him like he'd grown three extra heads, he jabbed a thumb towards his Firebolt, propped up in the corner. "What, you don't think I use that to _sweep,_ do you? You know how much that thing costs?" Again, they were silent. Maybe Quidditch was a little too much magic for one day. Then again, there was certainly a day coming up where Oliver was going to have all the Quidditch he ever dreamed of having. "Hey, my first game this season is Saturday...I can still get tickets, you guys want to come?"

He had Conner instantly. Jessica was even more confused than when he'd started talking about broomsticks, if only because she hadn't expected the invitation. Conner, however, didn't need to say anything. The idea of going to an actual sporting event, not even going into the fact that it involved wizards and flying broomsticks, was something he lived for. "Hell _yes!_"

Looking at Jessica, Oliver imagined that this must've been what she was like when Conner had convinced her to watch football with him. She seemed intrigued - he imagined the magic part helped, in this case - and nowhere near as willing to admit it as Conner was. It didn't matter, though. "Well, it's not like I have class on the weekend..."

"Great!" Oliver smiled. All, it seemed, was finally well. He could send an owl to ask for their tickets tomorrow when he met Percy. "Just one thing...what _is_ Curling, anyway? I actually haven't got a clue..."


	13. Knights

**Oliver Wood and the Muggleborn's Wand  
**Chapter 13  
_Alhazred - ssjDOTalhazredATgmailDOTcom - alhazredDOTlivejournalDOTcom  
Not For Profit work. Harry Potter and related materials © J.K. Rowling._

"Conner's at work...you don't _need_ him to give a statement or anything, right?"

Jessica seemed genuinely concerned, but Oliver wasn't taking the whole thing nearly as seriously as he probably should have. It was, after all, 'just' Percy, and Jessica wasn't going to say anything about his flagrant use of Cruciatus. He hoped.

After all, Percy might've forgiven the Killing Curse in war, but he might not give even his friends the benefit of looking the other way on repeat offenses now that the war was done with. Especially considering how Oliver had acted the last time they'd spoken. "Ah, no. Truth be told I don't really need you either, it'll just help. And, you'll get to see stuff."

The fact that she didn't say anything about that made him wonder if she was thinking that she _really_ wanted to see a slice of wizarding life, and then felt ashamed over thinking that ahead of Oliver's legal 'trouble.' She nicely avoided that subject, though. "Right, so...where are we going, anyway? And how are we getting there? Can you, like...teleport?"

"I can," Oliver said, his head slightly tilted. He hadn't actually thought of this yet. "But I'm not terribly good at it...can't manage it well, I always end up making noise, so I wouldn't want to try bringing someone along. We can fly," he pointed to his Firebolt, still leaning in the corner near the door. "It's a twenty minute broom flight, at most."

She hadn't really gotten over the whole idea of flying brooms yet, though. The idea of flying on a broom in tandem made her blanch. "Isn't there..._anything_ else?"

"Well, maybe," Oliver said. "C'mon, let's find out." Throwing his jacket on, Oliver took the time to get his feet snugly into his Quidditch boots. They functioned well enough for the winter and the snow on the ground, and he was planning on getting a new pair soon, anyway, so wear and tear didn't concern him much. Jessica had boots that were much easier for her to slip on; they were violently purple, a fact that Oliver found ironic, given the method of transportation he was going to try. "Oh, wait, they won't take Muggle money..."

He plodded back to his bedroom, realizing he'd have to do a cleaning charm to get rid of the dirt he was tracking around, but that could wait until later. Digging in his nightstand for the little sack he kept a supply if wizarding cash in, he returned in short order. He grabbed his old Gryffindor scarf on the way out as an afterthought, throwing it over his shoulder.

Once he and Jessica were in the hall, he closed the door and bothered with his wand instead of the key. "I don't know why, this just makes me feel better..._Colloportus._"

She laughed when the door squelched.

Throwing his scarf around his neck as one last precaution against the cold, Oliver led Jessica out of their building's front doors and over to the curb. There were a few Muggles about on Woodland Road, but no one was really looking in his direction. Even if they were, they wouldn't see much. "Muggles aren't supposed to be able to see this, but I imagine it's like the enchantment I put on my pictures...should be fine since you're with me."

"Why doesn't this sound good?" Jessica buried her hands in her pockets.

"Oh, don't worry," Oliver leaned over the curb slightly, wand in hand. "This is going to be so uncomfortable, but it's not the worst thing in the world." He raised his wand into the air, as if hailing a taxi.

No taxi came, but the sudden appearance of an honest-to-god triple-decker bus at the end of the road had Jessica resisting an urge to hide behind him. "But that's...that's a dead end."

"Oh good," Oliver breathed a sigh of relief, "You can see it...here's where it gets frightening...you don't get motion sickness, do you?"

"No, not really," she said. "Why?"

"You'll see," Oliver sighed. He'd ridden on the Knight Bus once in his life, and he knew what he was in for. "You probably wouldn't believe how this is going to work if I told you."

Before she could prod him, the Knight Bus came to a screeching halt, stopping with the door perfectly in front of them. Stan Shunpike stood haphazardly there, looking at them. "Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard," he eyed Jessica with subdued confusion, "And their 'ccasional Muggle companions, my name is Stan Shunpike, and I will be your conductor for the afternoon."

Oliver breathed a sigh of relief. That wasn't a problem, then. His distraction didn't go unnoticed by Stan, who was quick to hustle them inside. Oliver reached into his pocket for the sickles he would need. "We're going to the Ministry of Magic."

"Thirteen sickles each, that'll be," Stan handed them their tickets, taking Oliver's money as he turned towards the front. "Ernie! Ministry of Magic!" Turning back, Stan smiled, "Lucky for the pair of ya, that's the only destination right at the moment. Go on then, have a seat..."

Jessica surveyed the bus, eying the upper levels through the gap in the center, but Oliver was quick to usher her to the nearest set of chairs. He never understood why they couldn't conjure something that was bolted down. "Trust me, you want to sit as fast as possible...here, let's do this." Approaching a window with several mismatched chairs, Oliver turned one right-side-up and set it with its back facing another. He arranged another pair like this, and motioned for Jessica to sit. "Hang on, it's gonna get bumpy."

Taking his advice and hugging the chair in front of her, Jessica watched as Oliver sat and did the same. She wondered if the fact that he was so much larger than she was would help him hold on or just help him tip over faster from whatever bumps might happen. "It's really that bad?"

"I guess it's the tradeoff for fast travel," Oliver said. When Stan called back that the Ministry of Magic was the next stop, he tightened his grip. "And...here we go..."

_BANG._

The massive jolt through the bus sent both of them sliding back quite a bit, but the chairs they were holding onto came with them, and weighed them down considerably. Instantly, Jessica realized what Oliver had meant. "You're right, I wouldn't have believed this!"

Fascinated and frightened, she watched the landscape zoom by the window. By the time she first looked, Woodland Road was _long_ gone.

"I'm just glad it's a short trip," Oliver said. The bus lurched again, this time because the brakes had been hit and it was taking a hairpin turn while running a red light further on the way into London. "Oh, Merlin's beard, I should've thought about whether or not **I** get motion sickness!"

_BANG._

Tearing her eyes away from the sight of the busy London street zooming by like nothing was rocketing through the middle of it, Jessica answered, "Where are going, anyway!"

"Ministry of Magic," Oliver said. "The bus outta leave us at the visitor's entrance any second-"

Before he could finish, the Knight Bus came to a complete and very abrupt stop. Someone on the middle level must've fallen, from the thumping going on. Oliver did more than fall; he wiped out in true Quidditch fashion, his weight working against him and sending him clear over the chair he was holding on to. Maintaining an iron grip on it, Oliver ended up flipping over, taking the chair down on top of himself when he landed on his back.

"Oliver!" Jessica's chairs had slid forward, but she stood as soon as the floor stopped lurching and pulled the errant chair off of him. "Are you alright?"

"I've had worse," Oliver blinked. He was just realizing that he was, indeed, on the floor. Standing up, he brushed himself off. "And we still have the trip home to look forward to..."

"Ministry of Magic, visitor's entrance!" Stan announced.

Oliver and Jessica couldn't have gotten off the bus fast enough. They weren't a step each away from it when it bounced away, down the street and out of sight in an instant. Staring at the spot in the road where it had vanished, Jessica said, "That was..."

"I know," Oliver said, "Not the best ride in the world..."

"I just," she shook her head, "I wasn't expecting magic to be so..."

"Mundane?" Oliver scratched the back of his head. "Yeah, not everything's flashy, even with wizards...c'mon, let's get inside before we freeze to death, though." He could see his breath so well that it was almost like walking through fog whenever he exhaled. Sliding into the normal-looking phone booth, Oliver motioned for her to follow. "C'mon, I know it's cramped, but it's the way in."

Once she crammed in next to him and closed the door, she looked around the inside, as if wondering when it was going to take off. Oliver dialed the numbers, and soon enough, a calm, professional, female voice spoke out of thin air. "Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. Please state your name and business."

"Oliver Wood and Jessica," he began, suddenly, painfully aware of the fact that not once he'd met her had he ever bothered to ask her last name.

With Oliver looking at her desperately, Jessica stopped glancing around for the source of the voice and filled in, "Carver."

"Muggle, here to file a report on an Improper Use of Magic incident," Oliver finished, deliberately not giving away the fact that he'd been directly involved in the aforementioned incident. He wasn't keen on confirming Jessica's status as a Muggle, but he knew his options were doing it now or explaining to the security guards why she didn't have a wand to check in.

The Welcome Witch didn't seem suspicious, and she continued. "Thank you. Visitors, please take the badges and attach them to the front of your robes." He took the badges when the phone's coin return spit them out; aside from their names, they were each labeled with the same thing; 'IUM Report.' On Jessica's badge, the word "Muggle" displayed itself in the middle. Oliver stuck his badge onto his jacket, and put Jessica's on for her, so he wouldn't have to explain that it would magically stick without a pin. All the while, the operator kept talking. "Wizarding visitor to the Ministry, you are required to submit to a search and check your wand at the security desk, located at the far end of the Atrium. Muggle visitor to the Ministry, you are required to submit to a search and sign a non-disclosure agreement at the security desk. Failure to comply with this agreement will result in memory modification."

Mortified, she shot Oliver a look. He tried to wave his hand once, not being very successful in the cramped space. "Don't worry, they'll only send Obliviators after you if you do anything to give it away..."

"Oh," she said, half-heartedly. "Well, _that_ makes it less scary..."

Oliver would've jumped when the floor of the phone booth started to move down, if he had room. He'd been to the Ministry before, mostly to register as a professional Quidditch player and to fill out any of the paper work involved, but it always startled him without fail.

"The Ministry of Magic wishes you a pleasant day."

Jessica, being closer to the door, stepped out first. The Atrium awed her as much as any wizard coming through for the first time. "That...that's a big fountain."

"Hmm," Oliver nodded, standing next to her when she paused. He'd heard stories about the 'Magic is Might' monument, and he was glad he didn't have to see it. Random parts of the fountain looked brand new, the legs of every statue where shinier than the rest of them, to say nothing of the basin. A team of architectural wizards was working on it, trying to transfigure the color of the new metal to match the aged, antique look of the parts that had survived. The water was running, at least. "We're heading past it, too..."

As they passed the fountain, he handed Jessica a sickle and threw in one of his own, prompting her to do the same. At midday, the Atrium wasn't crowded with wizards just coming into work, although the fireplaces lining either wall had enough traffic for Jessica to watch them intently even when she had to look behind, just to make sure she was really seeing it.

The moment was cut short when they reached the security desk not far away from the golden archway that led farther in.

The wizard posted here was the same one Oliver had met on his previous visits to the place, and that didn't thrill him. He didn't know the guy's name, only that he was very, very sick of his job. Oliver had to clear his throat to get his attention. "I'm here to register my wand?"

With a sigh, the guard put down his copy of the _Daily Prophet,_ picked up the Probity Probe sitting on the desk, and stood. Quickly running it over Oliver's front and back, the guard glanced at Jessica's badge and did the same to her before sitting back down. "Let's have it, then."

Handing over his wand, Oliver watched him go into a drawer in the desk and pull out a piece of paper. He turned it around and pushed it towards the edge, his other hand putting Oliver's wand on the scale while he talked. "Miss, do you understand that anything you see, do, hear or say while at Ministry headquarters is to be kept strictly confidential from Muggles unaware of magic?"

Seeing the sense in that, Jessica nodded. "Yes."

"Do you understand," the guard added, his voice becoming more and more of a monotone, "That failure to do so will result in consequences up to and including your sponsoring wizard suffering standard penalties as provided by the International Statute for Magical Secrecy and a qualified Ministry Obliviator modifying your memory to remove your knowledge of magic-related events?"

Jessica hadn't known she could get Oliver into trouble by association. Sparing him a glance at that, she said, again, "Yes."

Holding out a quill, the guard finished with, "Sign at the X, please." As she did so, the scale finished with Oliver's wand and spit out the report. The guard read off it, "Holly, fourteen inches even, unicorn hair for a core, been in use for about ten years...yes?"

"That's right," Oliver nodded. He gratefully took his wand back while the guard filed the receipt, and wasted no time leading Jessica to the lifts. "Sorry about that...that guy's always a real prat every time I'm here."

To his surprise, she didn't comment on the guard's lack of people skills. "You...keep track of how long your wands are?"

"Aye, it's one of the things that sets different wands apart for different people," Oliver nodded. He couldn't quite figure out why she was giggling, so he kept on with his explanation. "Mine's a little longer than the average..."

At this, she nearly burst out laughing, one hand over her mouth. "You have a bigger staff than most wizards?"

"But they're wands," he said, contemplating what she was saying. "Not staves..."

Before Oliver could contemplate this any further, a voice he hadn't heard since the battle called out his name from further back in the hall. Turning, Oliver found himself staring at a familiar lightning-shaped scar as Harry Potter weaved his way around a pair of witches talking under the archway, Floo power still dusted over his shoulders. Oliver imagined that Harry must've caught a glimpse of him just as he'd emerged from the fireplace. "Harry!"

The hug was automatic for both of them, though Oliver's idea of a hug might've broken Harry's ribs. He was all grown up since Oliver had last played Quidditch with him, but he'd seen enough of Harry when Voldemort died to know he was just as lanky as ever. Still, this allowed him to wiggle away from Oliver with little difficulty. "It's good to see you, Oliver. I read about you in the _Prophet_ this morning, Puddlemere Chaser and all. Wish I could I could make it to your game this Saturday."

"In the," Oliver stuttered, more than a little stunned. He hadn't picked up the _Daily Prophet_ regularly when he _wasn't_ in a Muggle neighborhood. Surely, with all the deaths in the war and the work involved in reorganizing the league in the United Kingdom, wouldn't there be more important things than one replacement player? "In the _Prophet?_ I'm _in_ the paper?"

"Well." Shifting his weight, Harry tried to avoid eye contact. "It's a Rita Skeeter article, so it's three-quarters rubbish, but I figured the part about you being the new Chaser was the one-quarter that's truth."

"Oh," Oliver said. He didn't know what to think of that. How would _Rita Skeeter_ trash him in the newspaper? For a moment, Oliver grew sick to his stomach. Did she somehow know? Had she found out he'd used the Killing Curse during the battle? Worse, could she possibly know that he'd used Cruciatus on a Muggle? _Calm down, of course she doesn't know...and if she did, no one obviously cares much what she says, you just walked into the Ministry of Magic unnoticed, didn't you?_ "Well, any publicity is good publicity, I guess." Remembering that Jessica was standing next to him, Oliver stopped worrying. "I'm being rude...Jessica...Harry Potter."

"Hi," Harry said. His eyes briefly glanced over her visitor's badge as he reached out his hand.

"I've seen you," she said.

It reminded Oliver of the first day he'd met her. Harry, on the other hand, appeared dismal about it. "Yeah, well..."

"You're in Oliver's picture of his old school team," she said, shaking his hand and smiling.

"Why yes," Harry was suddenly elated, if not outright ecstatic. He gave her hand one more good shake before she could let go. "Yes, I suppose I am! And it's a pleasure to meet you!"

Oliver had to move to avoid a wizard in a particular rush to get by. "Let's find us a lift, shall we?"

At this time of the day, the lifts weren't over crowded. The three of them easily found one to themselves once passing the golden gates. After it started moving, Oliver made notice of Harry lacking a visitor's badge. "So, what are you here for, Harry?"

"Auror training," Harry said. He paused, as if he had to remember that it needed further explanation. Nudging his glasses further up onto his nose, he said, "I was anxious to start, but I just started seventh year at Hogwarts, too...McGonagall pulled some strings and got me enrolled for school credit, so I'm being graded like I'm in class, as well. Between this and Quidditch I haven't got any free time anymore, but I don't mind."

Shaking his head, Oliver wondered if Harry knew how absurd some of the things he was saying were. "Harry...after what you did, I'm shocked anyone thinks you still need to go to school. You should be a full Auror."

"Everyone keeps telling me that," Harry grinned ever so slightly, just enough to show that he didn't hold a grudge over the idea. "But you know, out of everyone, the only one who really knows what I need is me."

Still unable to comprehend how the one who had the power to vanquish the Dark Lord needed to _go back to school,_ Oliver nevertheless conceded the point. "I guess...for what it's worth, I hope you have an uneventful year for once."

The first time the lift opened, it was time for Oliver and Jessica to get out. Harry bid them one more farewell, and when the doors closed, Jessica said, "He's a nice guy...seems more excited about the day than anyone else going to work I've ever met."

"Nah," chuckled Oliver. "He was just excited you only recognized him from my pictures. C'mon, this way...we're meeting Percy at Oblivator Headquarters."

"Aren't those the guys who do the memory thing?" She asked.

"Yeah, but it's just because he needs to borrow an office. This isn't his usual job," Oliver assured her. "Don't worry...Memory Charms are the last resort...they're supposed to trust my judgment on it. I had to prove I could do a Memory Charm when I got my license to live in a Muggle neighborhood, so if I didn't do it, there shouldn't be a reason."

"Is that what you did you did to David," she asked, knowing full well there were a _few_ things Oliver had done to him. "After we untied him?"

"Yeah," Oliver nodded, opening the door into their target department. "I was halfway tempted to make him totally forget you, but that's beyond my level." Walking up to the receptionist, a tall witch with a pointed hat, Oliver said, "We have an appointment with Percy Weasley?"

"Go right in," she nodded, pointing to the next door behind her desk. "Second door to the left, Mr. Weasley is expecting you."

Getting this done may have been inconvenient for Percy, but Oliver didn't mind so much. He didn't have to wait, didn't even have to give his name, since Percy usually didn't work here and had likely just told her to send in the first person who knew to say his name. The second door on the left had the name "Alastor Grumboil" on it; it was left somewhat ajar.

Percy was sitting at the desk inside, organizing paper work between a pair of folders that he had sitting on top of Grumboil's own plethora of things. The door creaked when it opened, and Percy looked up. "Oliver! Good, I was just making sure everything was in order, go ahead and take a seat...and you must be Jessica? No," Percy flipped through some of his parchment, "No Conner?"

"He had to work today," she said, sitting down.

"Shouldn't matter," Percy mumbled. "I want to hand-wave this as much as possible." Oliver practically fell into his chair, hearing Percy say something like that. He was an emotional basket case after the war was over. Not Percy, though...Percy had just turned into a rogue. Even when he tried to put a serious tone into his voice, it still sounded a little fake. "Right, then. On the day in question, you attacked a Muggle with magic, in plain view of two others, for the purposes of defense?"

"He was defending _me,_" Jessica became more than a little defensive about it herself. "He was going to hit me with a bat. I'd probably be dead otherwise."

"So," Percy scribbled something on a parchment, and went on reading over another. "According to the preliminary report you filed, you tied him up with a rope-bind curse, and then," Percy's eyes narrowed; he stared intently at the parchment. It was instantly clear that he hadn't had time to read it yet. "And then a _Dementor_ flew in through the window? What?"

"Yeah," Oliver said. "Pretty much exactly what happened. I know it sounds crazy..."

"Well, I suppose it's not so unbelievable these days, with the Dementors scattered," Percy answered. "But Dementors don't...just fly into random windows. Not that I don't believe you, but it's not very likely for one of them to just _happen_ upon the only wizard living in the area...and it attacked the other Muggle in the room?"

"He was waving around Oliver's wand," Jessica told him. "He was...he was just curious, tried to make more rope come out of it, and then he was just...on the floor."

"Well, that certainly justifies the use of a Patronus charm in front of Muggles who've already seen magic anyway, albeit for five minutes," Percy grabbed a stamp that read 'Acceptable Use' and banged it on the parchment. He signed it, and handed it over to Oliver. "Both of you sign that under my name. And put your signature on this," Percy rummaged in the desk drawers, eventually coming out with a blank form. "This man is so unorganized...here. I'll fill it in later and leave it with the Aurors. If they can ever _spare_ someone, little things like Dementors randomly attacking people in Muggle communities ought to be investigated, I think."

"Right," Oliver did so. He watched Percy close his folder, holding the last form on top so he wouldn't forget it.

"That'll do it," Percy said, getting up. "You shouldn't hear from anyone again unless the Aurors find out anything noteworthy about the Dementor...sorry I have to cut and run, Oliver, I really didn't have room for this in my schedule," Percy quickly added, "Not that I mind, but you know how it is...keep in touch, will you, let me know how your game goes?"

"Will do," Oliver answered. Percy was out the door before he and Jessica were on their feet. "Well, it pays to have friends in high places, doesn't it?"

"That wasn't nearly as...involved as I thought it would be," she confessed.

"He wasn't kidding when he said he wanted to hand-wave it." As they made their way back to the lifts, Oliver said, "Percy's changed a lot...back in school, he'd drop dead before breaking rules, or even bending them like that. His brother," Oliver stopped himself. "Nevermind...let's do some light shopping."

"Shopping?" Jessica seemed amused by this idea. Following him into the lift, she didn't say anything more until it came to a stop at the Atrium and they walked out. She felt self-concious with other wizards in the cramped space, and didn't want to say anything childish in front of anyone but Oliver. "What are we shopping for?"

"Couple of small things," Oliver said. "And I need to stop at the post and send an Owl to my team's manager, so I can get those tickets." Halfway down the Atrium, after they passed the fountain, Oliver veered off to an exit fireplace with a small line. He reached for the communal Floo powder, and handed her a pinch. "Okay...first you throw it in...then you say where you're going nice and loud, then just walk. We're going to Diagon Alley."

Staring at the wizard ahead of him as he walked through the flames, Jessica said, "Is it...hot, at all?"

"Nah, just tickles. Watch," Oliver tossed his Floo powder in. "Diagon Alley!" He took the step through, and came out nicely in the Leaky Cauldron. No one in the pub gave him a glance. Stepping away from the fireplace, Oliver waited a few seconds. When a few more passed, he started to worry, but soon enough, Jessica came spinning out. He caught her before she could fall. "Whoa, there!"

"Wow," she said. "That was so much better than the bus."

"Too bad my flat doesn't have a fireplace, isn't it," Oliver chuckled, as she reached up and brushed some powder from his shoulder. "This way..."

Once at the wall, Oliver started counting bricks. "One...two...three, one, two, here we go." Three taps with his wand, and the archway opened.

Jessica was long beyond the point where a magical archway surprised her. Oliver's Patronus had been more absurd. The cobbled street beyond was pretty impressive, though. Oliver _still_ thought it was impressive. Being a pureblood, he never saw Diagon Alley quite the same as a Muggleborn would, but it was still a wonder in its own right. "Here we are, then...Diagon Alley, center of commerce. This won't take long..."

One look at her as they walked down the street told him that she would have all the patience in the world, though. She was positively endearing, with the look of a Hogwarts first year coming to buy her school supplies plastered all over her face. To her credit, she went for a long time before she saw something so absurd that she couldn't help but point it out. "Is that...is that store advertising self-stirring cauldrons?"

"Yeah," Oliver said. "Never did try one of those. My old Potions teacher probably would've failed us just for bringing it into his classroom...anyway, there's the first stop..."

The trip to the Public Owlry was quick and painless. Oliver wrote the letter to the team manager, paid the clerk, and watched the owl fly off. While they were walking back outside, Jessica dug her hands into her pockets, trying not to shiver. It was really too early yet, for it to be this cold. "You know, when you said you had to send an owl out...I kept telling myself it was just a figure of speech."

"Heh, some things are simple." Feeling sympathetic, Oliver yanked his scarf off of his neck, and wrapped it around hers. She looked like she wanted to tell him not to bother, but he did it so fast that it would've been an awkward thing to say. "Some things aren't. I'm sorry, I can't resist this, I have to see it." Taking the few steps over to the news stand, Oliver paid for a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ and opened it right to the sports section, with Jessica reading over his shoulder by the time he'd found Rita Skeeter's bi-line. The headline read, "Puddlemere's New Chaser; Excellent or Ecto-friskey?"

Having absolutely no idea what in the world that was supposed to mean, Oliver began reading. Halfway down, he was finished with Rita's usual suspense-building introduction and made it to the part that sent his head spinning. He could not, in any way, believe it.

_Although no one would deny Oliver Wood's skill at the game, this reporter did find something completely unexpected during a visit to Hogwarts in order to get the full scoop on Mr. Wood direct from his teachers._

_Instead, a ghost infamous at the school for haunting several bathrooms recounted an unbelievable story of a visit Mr. Wood once had to a tub she frequented, where he had been eager to..._

Forcing himself to stop reading, Oliver nearly yelled, 'Are you kidding me?! Myrtle came on to _me!_' But, he didn't. In fact, Oliver found that he wasn't nearly as upset as the blatant lie probably should've made him feel. After everything he'd been through, a Rita Skeeter interpretation of the facts just seemed petty and maybe even the opposite of noteworthy.

From the fact that he hadn't heard a word about this from his coach or the manager, he wondered if they felt the same. "Well, _that's_ a load of bull. Merlin's pants, that woman couldn't write the truth to save her life."

"She reads like a tabloid," Jessica added.

"She's never written a sports article in her life, either," Oliver rolled his eyes. "Not even supposed to be allowed in Hogwarts anymore...if McGonagall finds out how she does it, there'll be hell to pay." Folding the paper over twice, Oliver summarily tossed it into the newstand's rubbish bin. "That's enough of _that._"

His real stop for the day, the one that wasn't necessitated by responsibility and things he had to do in order to keep reality functioning properly, was right across the street. 'Quality Quidditch Supplies' was, by and large, Oliver's favorite place in the world to spend money. Not two seconds after walking in, he spied a manager behind the counter he was on a first name basis with, unfortunately hunched over his own copy of the _Daily Prophet._ Letting out a sigh, Oliver nevertheless said, "Lester!"

Looking up, the clerk shoved the paper aside. "Oi, Wood! You see yourself in the paper?"

"Yes," Oliver drawled, his voice low. He could hear Jessica trying not to laugh and failing, somewhat. "I need to pick up a couple of things...you got any Puddlemere T-Shirts left in," he turned to Jessica, "What's Conner's size?"

"Medium," she filled in.

Turning back to Lester, Oliver repeated, "Medium?"

"Are you kidding?" For a second, Oliver was worried his plans at a gift had fallen flat, but Lester went on. "We stocked up on everything Puddlemere and Tornados so much we'll have surplus for a year...the merch is going like mad, what with it being the first game since You-Know-Who's been gone. Hang on, let me find the damned T-Shirts..."

As Lester went off into the T-shirt section, Jessica started looking around. She noticed, immediately, that the shop was bigger inside than outside, and she also noticed that Lester hadn't been kidding; merchandise, from action figures to posters to team-themed robes labeled either "Puddlemere United" or "Tutshill Tornados" dominated the store, eclipsing the other teams. Everyone else in the store was digging through someone with one of those names on it.

Inching her way down the line of robes, she guessed they must've been the equivalent to wearing a jersey with a football player's name and number on it. That wasn't what interested her, though. "Oliver, look!"

She actually grabbed him and tried to make him spin around faster. She had to pull him over, and Oliver came without a fight, curious as to what had gotten her excited. When he saw it, he couldn't believe his eyes. "I...I haven't even played a _game_ yet!"

The Navy-blue Puddlemere robe stared right back at him, its number and Name reading "667" and _Wood._

"Oh, hey," Lester took this moment to come back, a fresh, packaged T-shirt under one arm. "We just got those in. Why don't you take one? On the house, just tell anyone who interviews you about it, eh?

"Les," Oliver said, "I _already have_ one!"

"I'll take it." Jessica already had the robe off the hanger. "I can't wait to see Conner's face when he sees me being a crazier fan than he is."

Opening his mouth to say something, perhaps to protest somehow, Oliver was at a loss for words. He'd been playing Quidditch all his life. He was in the pitch infinitely more than he was in the stands, and he suddenly wondered if, perhaps, he had no idea what fan culture actually _was._ Sure, he'd loved being in the stands for the end of the World Cup a few years back, but he hadn't practically jumped into the pitch.

And now, people were buying copies of his game robes. One of his friends would be wearing it. All at once, Oliver realized how out of the loop he'd been since moving to a Muggle neighborhood and not even keeping up with the news. He realized his parents were going to _kill_ him when they found out he didn't tell them he had his own merchandise.

"You need anything else, Mate?"

Blinking himself back to reality, Oliver looked at Lester for a few seconds, trying to figure out what he was forgetting. "Omnioculars...two sets...my parents already have some, I know that much, at least..."

"Phew," Lester went back behind the desk, where the item in question was stocked high up, out of typical customer reach. He had to climb on a ladder. "I remember when you bought your first broomstick here, Oliver. You were all excited, said you'd been saving up for a Nimbus since your first year at school so you could get one when you made the team..."

Again, Oliver had to think about that. He wasn't filthy rich, to be sure, but his salary from being the reserve Keeper had let him be more than well-off. And the substantial raise meant he would be financially secure for the foreseeable future if he didn't blow it all needlessly.

He did not plan on doing that. He certainly wasn't going to be one of _those_ athletes who had no concept of saving for the future. What was the point of the work he'd put into it already, if he just did that?

Oliver's comment made Jessica realize that he was buying things solely for her and Conner's benefit. She didn't know much about Quidditch, but she had a hard time imagining that it was any harder to enjoy than a Muggle sport without having the best seats in the house. "Oliver, you don't have to..."

"It's alright," he said, already in the process of paying. "I got a nice enough raise when I was put on the main team...and plenty of it goes into savings as it is. I'm fine as long as I don't do this every day."

Lester gave Oliver one last wish for good luck, and Oliver left the store with that. The other customers were starting to stare at him, and he really didn't know how he would take it if someone actually asked for an autograph. Or, worse still, if someone asked him about Rita Skeeter's article.

Still, he wondered how obvious he might be, anyway, considering that Jessica was now following him with Oliver Wood Quidditch robes folded under her arm. As absurd as it was, he couldn't help but smile at her.

That smile faded when he remembered how they were getting home, though. "Ugh...we have to get back on the Knight Bus..."


	14. Voldie Fawkes

**Oliver Wood and the Muggleborn's Wand  
**Chapter 14_  
Alhazred - ssjDOTalhazredATgmailDOTcom - alhazredDOTlivejournalDOTcom  
Not For Profit work. Harry Potter and related materials © J.K. Rowling._

Throwing his rucksack over his shoulder, Oliver surveyed his still-sparse living room as if it could possibly contain something he'd forgotten. He knew his Quidditch robes were in his bag, though he'd already put on his uniform pants and boots. He wasn't going to wear the robes out into public, not so much to avoid Muggles - he noticed Muggles wearing ankle-length jackets on occasion - but because he didn't want anyone to realize he was actually the player whose name was embroidered on his back.

"Okay," Looking down, Oliver made sure that his wand was strapped to his calf, and felt satisfied that the sheath wouldn't come loose. "I think that's about everything..."

Her replica robes folded under one arm, Jessica went through her own checklist. It was short, she only needed to make sure her house keys were still attached to a key ring that was attached to her belt. "I guess so...just need to get Conner."

"Let's be off, then," Oliver managed a smile, despite his serious case of nerves. It was, after all, going to be his first game as a Chaser for Puddlemere United, instead of reserve Keeper. Despite practice so often, he suddenly couldn't help but go back to wondering if he could cut the mustard as a Chaser.

Then he reminded himself that the Tutshill Tornados had lost a Beater, a Chaser, their Keeper and their Seeker during the war. Reserves were for swapping out the better players so they didn't get incredibly strained, or for psyching out the opposition by altering the team's playing style after they'd gotten a feel for what the game had started with. Worst case scenario; reserves were for permanently replacing an unexpected, sudden departure from the team.

A team that was put together halfway from what was _left_ of its reserves and drew on sources from who knew where couldn't be terribly organized by now, no matter how hard they'd tried. Oliver wondered what their coach must've thought, after undoubtedly being ecstatic that they'd managed to make the League only to draw the first game. He must've been hoping for at least a _little_ more time to form the patched-together group into more of a cohesive unit.

Once out the door, Oliver closed it and promptly leaned down to pull his wand from the sheath. _"Colloportus." _Precisely half of one second after the door squelched, he realized that he had, indeed, forgotten something. "Oh, for...good one, Wood. _Alohamora._"

Dashing back in, Oliver grabbed his broom from where it waited, propped up in the corner near the door. Leaving once more, he closed the door and let Jessica lead him to her flat.

The door wasn't locked, and they wouldn't be staying for long. Immediately, she walked down the hall. "Conner, you ready yet?"

His voice came from the bathroom. "Yeah, just finished!"

Oliver was glad he'd only stood in the doorway instead of walking down with her, because he wasn't sure he could've handled seeing Conner appear suddenly instead of watching him walk out and down the hall, giving him time to slowly assess the situation.

To say Conner was excited would've been a vast understatement. He was wearing the Puddlemere T-shirt Oliver had bought for him, but that wasn't the worst of it. He'd painted his face Navy-blue on one side and white on the other, a "P" written on his right cheek, a "U" on the other.

He even had a streak of blue going through his hair. "This looks alright, then? Really have no idea what I'm doing, just going off what's on the shirt..."

Oliver wondered if Jessica was flabbergasted, after remembering how she'd said the Puddlemere robe would let her outdo him. Despite Oliver's name in the back, it wasn't true. From the sound of her voice, she seemed to take it in stride. "Really, Conner...if anyone sees us before we get there, they're going to think you're mental. Or they'll try to kill you."

"Oh, shut up," he waved her off. "How _are_ we getting there, anyway?"

"Please, not the bus," Jessica shot Oliver a pleading look.

Just as happy to give her the answer as he imagined she would be to hear it, Oliver said, "Merlin, no. We probably couldn't even if we wanted to, it's likely to be over packed with people trying to make it at the last minute...this game's turning out to be bigger than when Britain hosted the World Cup Final in ninety-four. My parents have had their tent up on the grounds for the last two and a half weeks."

He didn't even want to get into whether or not the Knight Bus would even work for them. He had no idea what going through the pitch's Muggle-repelling charms on the bus would do. Better to go straight in.

"Weeks?" Conner blinked. "That just might beat out crazy things Football fans do...um, no one..._riots_ at these things, right? I mean, I just can't imagine being terribly safe in the middle of a sorcerer riot."

Surprised by the question, Oliver said, "Err, no, not usually...especially if the game lasts more than a day, then the crowd wears itself out cheering more than the players do."

"More than a day?" Conner seemed like he'd just woken up on Christmas. "This sport can go _longer than a day?_ How does _that_ work?"

"I'll tell you all about it later," Oliver chuckled. "C'mon, we need to go get our Portkey..."

Locking the door as they left, Conner said, "So why's this such a big to-do, anyway? Didn't you say it's just the first game of the season?"

"It's the first game since the war," Oliver said, remembering, acutely, the day he'd learned that all Quidditch was off in favor of everyone running for their lives. "We haven't had Quidditch in more than a year..."

Conner didn't say anything else on the subject after that. He asked about something that, for Muggles, would've been a very important part of traveling somewhere. "Right, so where's the stadium, anyway?"

"It's a home game," Oliver answered. "So we're playing at the Puddlemere pitch, it's near Puddletown over in Dorset, stone's through from the river Piddle."

"The river...that's like, a three hour drive!" Conner seemed stricken; he'd been planning for a relatively short trip, and thus, wasn't packed well at all for something longer. Fortunately, he had a hard time remembering that Oliver was a wizard. Or, more specifically, he had a hard time remembering that Oliver being a wizard meant that such things didn't always matter.

"We only need to drive to the secondary school," Oliver chuckled. "I pulled a string and got us a Portkey, it'll be left out on their football field by now."

"A port," Conner stopped himself, deciding that, if it didn't make sense now, it would probably make sense soon. He was, after all, going to be there for it. Whatever 'it' was. "Okay...that'll be five minutes..."

Last minute preparations done, Oliver adjusted the strap on his rucksack, watched Conner throw his backpack on, watched Jessica throw her Quidditch robe on, and then watched them lock the door to their flat. True to Conner's word, it took five minutes to park inconspicuously across the street from Heathcoat Secondary School.

Once everyone was out of his car, though, Conner had second thoughts. "Not that there aren't teachers here who'd recognize Jess and me...but considering how we look, walking across might not go over so well."

"S'alright," Oliver said. "I can handle side-along Apparition from this distance. I couldn't take one person across town, but two people over that lawn and into the field? Child's play." Oliver didn't mention that he'd never actually performed Apparition with passengers before. Still, he knew the theory well enough. Pulling his wand, he held it up facing the direction of the school's field. _"Homenum Revelio."_

Nothing happened. Remembering what Oliver had said about magic not always being flashy and fanciful, Jessica was instantly curious. "What was that?"

"Making sure no one's around," Oliver took one last glance up and down the street, making sure no one was coming in line of sight, out of range of his spell. Even the traffic was sparse. "We'd never be able to go through the school, classes haven't let out yet, but the field's totally empty."

"Too much snow to do anything with it," said Conner. He took his own look around, seeing the dustings of white on everything. There wasn't much, but it was more than enough to relegate gym class to the indoors.

"Works for me," Oliver nodded. "Both of you hold on."

He stretched his arms out enough for them to get the idea; once they were close and holding tightly, he tightened his grip on his wand, closed his eyes, took extra pains to imagine the spot, and made the Disapparation.

Instantly, Oliver lost his footing once they re-appeared in the middle of the field. He ended up dragging Conner down to the snowy ground with him, though Jessica was so startled by the sensation and _extremely_ loud cracking noise the apparation made that she let go beforehand.

"Well," Oliver pulled Conner up, bending down to brush the powdery snow from his legs, "I need to practice my Apparating, obviously. Glad it worked, though. Anyone splinched?" Remembering they wouldn't know what that meant when he looked at their faces, Oliver quickly added, "No? Good...ah, there it is."

In what would've been the obvious center of the football field, had there been no snow to cover the lines, sat a simple, beat-up looking football with its top capped off in snow. They were close enough to see it easily enough, and Jessica walked up to it first. "That's going to take us? It's not...going to fly, is it?"

"Nah." Oliver moved to catch up with her.

He stepped around it and moved to kneel, before remembering that the snow hadn't magically vanished in the last five seconds. He settled for squatting instead, one hand out, waiting for the other two. Once they'd done the same, he said. "Right, ready then? Just grab on..."

Ten seconds passed after the three of them laid a hand on the ball. Ten more passed. Conner wondered if Oliver had gotten his magical items mixed up. "Well?"

"We must be a little early," Oliver felt his stomach being pulled before he could even finish the sentence, and he fell over one more time, onto snow-free grass. The temperature was about the same, but the field they'd landed in was fairly dry. Given their proximity to the river, Oliver wondered if the pitch workers had put up atmospheric charms to make the ground more comfortable for Portkey users and the _crazy_ fans who pitched Muggle tents for an 'authentic' experience.

"Can we pick up my stomach on the way back," Conner moaned, holding his head as he stood up. He'd landed on a rock, albeit a small one. "Why do I keep getting hit in the head..."

"Wasn't that bad," Jessica looked around, "Your stomach was worse off that first time I tried to make custard...wow."

The campground was overwhelming, even for Oliver. To say it was crazier than the World Cup Final was a _vast_ understatement. The space that all the tents were sprawled out in was easily larger than that event, perhaps double. Oliver could barely see the pitch on the far end of the grounds, obscured by so many tents pointing into the air. It was loud and obnoxious like any gathering at any popular sporting event, but there was an extra fervor in the air, an extra sense of enjoyment.

Oliver realized, after looking closely, that the weird effigies many people were parading through the grounds for others to throw food at were caricatures of Voldemort, all of them seemingly hand-made, but with oversized heads and goofy-looking red eyes in common. One had an archaic top-hat with a single buckle in the front over a shoulder-length wig. Oliver didn't get it, but it looked so ridiculous, he couldn't help but smile. "I feel really bad for the guys who've been trying to keep order here for weeks..."

"What happens when someone like us just walks up?" Conner asked.

Oliver was still trying to get his bearings. Wondering if the standard public-place enchantments were enough to screw up Muggle electronics, he pulled his phone out of his pocket. "There are enchantments on the grounds that make Muggles think they need to be somewhere else if they get close, that's why we needed to use a Portkey...failing that, the workers will use memory charms on anyone who happens to make it by. Hang on a sec," hitting the speed dial for his parents, he waited for one of them to answer, and hoped it would be drama-free. He was sure he was going to get enough of _that_ later on. "Mum? Yeah, it's me...where's our tent? We just got our Portkey...I have no idea where you are. Near the front? How long have you been...never mind, I'll head up." Hanging up, Oliver turned to his friends. "My parents got the tent up pretty close to the pitch, we'll have to do some walking."

Hefting his broom onto his free shoulder, Oliver tugged at the strap on his rucksack so it would dig in to a different spot for awhile, and led them into the tent forest. He really had no idea where he was going, but he wasn't going to let Conner and Jessica know that.

It didn't really matter much. He was just as thrilled as they were at what was going on around them. The first time Jessica saw a group of people zipping above the tents on their brooms, she could only stare and point. "Look at that!"

"Just think," Conner grew even more excited, "That's how they _play the game._"

Conner, at one point, found himself tackled by a group of Puddlemere fangirls who had yet to see anyone else go as far as face paint.

"You know," Jessica said, watching Conner eagerly 'let' them get their picture taken with him, "He's been bothering me for ages to go to a football game with him...I bet he doesn't remember what football _is_ after this."

"Could be worse," Oliver hefted his rucksack off of his shoulder, gently setting it down on the grass. "Stay here a sec? I'm gonna get a better view and see where my parents are."

Approaching the line marking the end of the campground, Oliver had utterly failed to see the familiar tent. A brief flight couldn't hurt; he wasn't wearing his full ensemble yet, after all, so the risk of being recognized as a player for Puddlemere and not just another guy looking for his spot or having fun zipping around was pretty slim.

Swinging his broom down, Oliver kicked off the field with practiced ease, climbing a good thirty feet above the tents before he started to take a serious look. The pitch looked splendid in the late afternoon sun, though the air was still sharply cool. It wasn't unbearable, though, and Oliver didn't anticipate much trouble if the weather stayed the same for one more day. From the air, it was easy to spot his parents' tent. They'd shown a patchwork of colors over the outside to show their support for Puddlemere, but it clashed horribly with the green underneath. "There we are..."

Dropping down and hopping off his broom, Oliver picked his rucksack back up. "Found 'em. This way," he had to raise his voice to be heard over the gaggle, "'Ey, Conner! Les'go!"

Once Conner ran back to them, Jessica gave him a smack on the shoulder. "You totally missed all of that. You should've seen him just take off like...like brooms are _meant_ for flying, or something."

"Like we're not going to see the game," Conner rolled his eyes.

They went back and forth like this all the way to the tent, barely noticing the tiny, tiny size as it appeared on the outside, until they had the inside to compare it to. Deciding that he might as well get it over with, Oliver called out before he'd even made it inside. "Mum, Dad? You in here?"

Conner had to poke his head back outside to make sure he wasn't losing his mind. "That must be handy..."

The entrance didn't go unnoticed by Oliver's parents for long. His mother had been at the stove when they walked in, and, upon seeing him, practically tackled him to the ground. "Oliver!"

"Mum, _ow,_" Oliver tried to fight her off, but it was absolutely useless. His mother had a grip like a vise, and she was dead-set on planting kisses on his cheeks whether he liked it or not. "Mum, geez! I'm glad to see you, too!"

"Well, you could certainly stand to write more!" She huffed. "Oh, these must be your Muggle friends! Come in, come in!"

Oliver's father was reading the _Daily Prophet_ at the table, and in typical fashion, he finished the article he was reading before he bothered to put it down. "For crying out loud, Oakley, let the poor kids breath for a minute."

As much as Oliver's mother was stereotypically affectionate, Elric Wood was a stereotypical gentleman. He shook Conner and Jessica's hands instead of doting on them, and waited until they were out of earshot before he threw an arm over his son's shoulders for an aside. As he spoke, he cocked his head towards Jessica. "I bet you can't beat the girls away with a stick now, eh, Ollie?"

The little grin on his father's face terrified Oliver to no end. It terrified him even more when he realized which edition of the _Prophet_ his father was holding. He really, really didn't want his father thinking that he was hitting on ghosts. On the other hand, he really, really didn't want to _have the conversation,_ either. "Dad..."

Oakley had already gotten to Jessica and Conner, though, so Oliver didn't need to worry about them overhearing. Before he even turned around, his mother's voice carried over, and Oliver could tell she was starting to spin wild tales of her Quidditch days with the Wimbourne Wasps. Jessica wasted no time falling in to help her cook dinner.

Oliver was secretly glad for that; he hated cooking, and he suspected this was the sole reason his mother always made him help in the kitchen when he was home from school. High up on his list of things he enjoyed about being an adult was the ability to own a Muggle microwave and, failing that, the ability to go out for food.

Conner eventually tore himself away from the grand stories of Quidditch past to go back outside and mingle - probably with the girls from earlier, Oliver suspected - while he waited for dinner. Oliver and his father soon followed, watching the scenes of the campgrounds from in front of their tent. Despite being the parent who wasn't at all into the sports thing, Elric still had no trouble making conversation with his son. "So how's the Muggle town? Your mother said you can drive one of those car things?"

"Yep," Oliver was still proud of that, having passed the test without cheating, and everything. He fished out his wallet and proudly displayed his license. "It's got these neat little effects so Muggles can't fake one...that's a hologram right there..."

"Fancy that," his father chuckled. He went through his pockets, coming out with his cell phone. "Maybe you can show me how to use this bloody thing, too...your mother has a Muggle friend in town she keeps trying to call..."

A little down the aisle between tents, Conner had joined the cheering group carrying one of the Voldemort effigies, the one with the hat and wig. As a Muggle, he was a little surprised when several wizards his own age pulled wands and gleefully hit the Dark Lord with Incendio charms that set him on fire in an instant.

Oliver laughed; tomorrow was the big game, and he couldn't think of a better way to spend the last few hours before hitting the sack than watching his friends run about and helping his father with a phone.


	15. Chuck that Quaffle Here!

**Oliver Wood and the Muggleborn's Wand  
**Chapter 15  
_Alhazred - ssjDOTalhazredATgmailDOTcom - alhazredDOTlivejournalDOTcom  
Not For Profit work. Harry Potter and related materials © J.K. Rowling._

"Conner, hurry up!"

"I'm hurrying," Conner yelled back, leaning in closer to the mirror as if it would speed up the process. Putting on the face paint had been easy. Tuning it up after he'd rolled his face over in his pillow during the night was much more difficult. "There, that should do it."

Conner felt a little singled out; Jessica never said a word when Oakley Wood had 'borrowed' what he had left to paint her _own_ face. He imagined that Jessica would say Oliver's mother had more taste, opting for simple lines of color on her cheeks instead of the full treatment.

Oakley had, in fact, taken charge of the group. Her husband was comfortable being along for the ride, and as such, she was quick to usher everyone out of the tent. "Everyone all set? Everyone's got your omnioculars? Great, let's find our seats!"

Throwing her Puddlemere robe on, Jessica followed her out, intent on not getting lost. She didn't think there was an emergency PA system anywhere, after all. The walk to the pitch was as energetic as it was chaotic, with people filing out of the camp grounds to the various entrances in thick, meandering lines.

Now that the sun was down, the Puddlemere United Quidditch pitch seemed ethereal. The scores of witches and wizards heading to it was comparable to a wave of army ants seen from above. Many of them had light coming out of their wands. Occasionally, Jessica would turn to look in the direction of a loud banging sound to see that someone had sent up fireworks.

The pitch itself wasn't like she was expecting; Muggle stadiums had a pretty specific look to them, but the Quidditch pitch was entirely vertical in its seating arrangement. It caught Conner off-guard even more, but he saw the sense in it. "Better to see guys flying on brooms from higher up, right?"

Their seats weren't shabby; three-quarters of the way up, at a nice angle to see anything going on below the center.

The game area looked simpler than Jessica had expected, too. There was nothing in the air, as she had expected a game involving flying broomsticks to have, even though she'd had a rundown of the rules. The ground was swampy, with tall, wet grass and puddles of water everywhere, no doubt a result of the pitch sitting so close to the river. "I'm still trying to make sense of the _rules,_ let alone the architecture..."

"Well, it's simple, isn't it," Conner's eyes twinkled; he was clearly proud of being able to pass himself off as a long-time fan. "Each team has three guys trying to throw a ball through one of those hoops over there," he pointed to the goal posts bearing the Puddlemere banner, "Two guys with bats going against the balls that float around hitting things, and one guy flying around trying to find the _really_ little ball, and the game ends if he catches it."

Unable to resist giving input, Oakley Wood took on a reassuring tone. "Oh, don't you worry dear, it'll make a lot more sense once the game gets going. And not all Beaters are men!"

Conner shrunk away at that.

Not long after, a booming voice echoed off the stands, as if it came from above and rebounded across the inside line of the pitch. Despite the volume necessary to reach everyone and also sound above the chaotic noise of such a large number of gathered, excited fans, the voice was nevertheless calm. "On behalf of the Ministry of Magic, I welcome, with great joy, each and every one of you to the first game of our annual Quidditch League!"

Finally having something to say that his wife couldn't outsmart him at, Oliver's father pointed down to a large box in the middle of the stands, about forty-five degrees to the left. "That's Kingsley Shacklebolt, he's what you'd call the Prime Minister. Interim, at least, but he'd be a shoe-in to run for election..."

Finding Minister Shacklebolt in the Omnioculars was a perfect way to practice with them. Jessica had it before Conner, and she nudged his into the right direction. "Little more to the right."

"Ah hah," Conner mumbled.

Kinglsey, they could see, was a tall black man, wearing fine robes. Even through Omnioculars, the hoop-shaped earring he wore was hard to miss. He was not speaking into a microphone, but rather, he was holding his wand with the tip to the side of his neck, and he continued talking. "Before the game begins, I would like to ask of you, a moment of silence for those who have been lost in the past year. They are the reason we stand here now, ready to enjoy our favorite sport. They are the reason our society remains free. Our friends and loved ones died so the Dark Lord would have no dominion over us, and as we celebrate having back what we once took for granted, we owe them remembrance."

Through their Omnioculars, Jessica and Conner watched as Kinglsey lowered his wand, folding his other hand over the one holding it, keeping it close. The dead silence that came over the pitch instantly inspired Conner to pull his eyes away from the lens and look around as much as he could; he couldn't believe how readily everyone complied.

Thinking back to what Oliver had mentioned about a war as the goal bell sounded three times in slow succession, Jessica thought of, not for the first time, how truly terrible it must've been. For moments like these, for the fact that Oliver would deliberately avoid talking about it, she couldn't help but wonder about the Dark Lord everyone always mentioned in passing.

When the moment passed, Kingsley, again, put his wand to his neck. "Thank you all. As interim Minister, it gives me immense pleasure to say...let the games _begin!_"

When Kingsley threw a point of light from his wand to the center of the pitch, the game itself didn't begin, but it was close enough. The white light exploded into a massive, if short-lived display of fireworks, music began to pump through the stands, and a good portion of the crowd cheered as hard as they could while the Tutshill Tornados flew up from the gate.

Jessica couldn't help but laugh at Conner, and Oliver's parents; they were actively booing loudly. Conner's anticipation of watching a sport played in flight began to pay off, and he was truly ecstatic. The commentators beginning their play-by-play only added to it all.

**"Ladies and Gentleman, Witches and Wizards of all ages, your friendly commentators Martin Zachary and my esteemed colleague Ryan Andrews here! Please welcome to the pitch, the Tutshill Tornados!"**

_"Thank you, Martin. Tremendous support for the Tornados here tonight, unusual for a home game..."_

The Tornados flew into the pitch in a tornado shape, or as much of a tornado shape as seven could manage. Getting a closer look with her Omnioculars, Jessica realized they were all doing tricks on their brooms as they flew in formation. The caption on her lens changed when she focused on a player, labeling him as '#24 - Marcus Flint - Seeker.'

The Tornados' Seeker looked to be Oliver's age, built large and not very agile, but, as Jessica glanced at the other players, it became obvious that he was the smallest of them all. Their acrobatics were heavily reliant on precision broom control, not jumping off and landing back on them.

Soon enough, they took their starting positions.

While the crowd had been loud when the Tornados made their entrance, it was the sound of the apocalypse when Puddlemere United flew onto the pitch. Oliver's parents were certainly one small part of the reason. Jessica and Conner weren't exactly quiet themselves, and it didn't take them long to focus their Omnioculars. Jessica's went from '#13 - Richard Upton - Chaser' to '#101 - Alex Anderson - Beater' before settling on '#667 - Oliver Wood - Chaser.'

Oliver had been doing a legs-free stunt on his broom and was in the process of regaining practical balance. Their formation was looser than the Tornados' had been, and all at once, the three Chasers broke off and flew the perimeter of the pitch, weaving wildly up and down instead of flatly flying in two dimensions.

A second after that started, Jessica watched through the lens as Oliver pulled his wand from its sheath and poked the side of his neck with it.

* * *

_"Sonorus,"_ Oliver said, under his breath. Immediately, he felt foolish for whispering the spell; given the environment, no one would possibly hear him until his voice was magnified. One hand still tight on the broom, Oliver pulled an abrupt turn back to the center of the pitch. The three Chasers all crossed paths and kept going, buzzing the Tornados as if they weren't even there. 

He, Dollie and Upton shouted at the exact same time, the synchronization and their spells working in tandem to let every single person in the stands hear the Puddlemere battle cry as their lungs gave everything they had. _"Beat back those Bludgers, boys, and chuck that Quaffle here!"_

Upton was Irish, and that plus Oliver's own accent made it sound odd, but it was a good kind of odd. It was different and attention-grabbing, and he could swear the crowd had managed to grow even louder.

It was the corniest anthem ever, and Oliver loved it dearly. He was on top of the world when he put his wand away and floated calmly over to his starting position. This was it; this was the big game. The first game since the war had ended, the most watched game anyone could remember, and the first game Oliver Wood would be playing as a Chaser, not 'just' a reserve Keeper, for Puddlemere United.

"Oi, Wood!"

Immediately, Oliver snapped his head around to look towards the source of his name. It was obviously one of the Tornados, and when Oliver saw which one, his grip on his broom went slack.

In fact, he almost fell off at the sight of the Tornado's Seeker. _"Flint?"_

Closing his eyes for a second and looking again, rubbing them out just in _case_ he was hallucinating, Oliver could not believe that Marcus Flint, his Slytherin rival for _years,_ his Slytherin rival whom he'd gotten into more than one fistfight with, was sitting on a broom floating not ten feet away.

And in the Seeker's position, no less. The look on Oliver's face was priceless, if what Flint said was an indication. "Surprised to see me? A _good_ Quidditch player would find out who's playing for the other team, Wood. Never know when it might be good information."

"Like it matters," Oliver muttered. He didn't care if Flint heard, he just shot him a good glare. _What do I care anyway? He's in the Seeker's position. Flint is supposed to catch the Snitch, yeah, right, they might as well forfeit..._

For the first time, Oliver didn't feel bad about the circumstances in which the Tornados had nearly dropped out of the League. If Marcus Flint was the best they could manage for a Seeker, what hope did they have?

Still, Oliver kept glaring daggers at him, right up until the ref tossed the Quaffle into the air above them all. Spurring his broom forward, Oliver was the first of Puddlemere's Chasers to make a grab for it.

He missed it by mere inches; the lead Tornado Chaser, a man named Smith, got his hand Quaffle just before Oliver would've had it and veered to the side.

There was no more crowd anymore, no noise beyond the rush of air as he moved and the sounds of the players in the pitch. He heard another Tornado Chaser, Jackson, call out that he was open.

Dashing down towards Brown, the third Chaser, Oliver saw his hunch proved correct. Either Jackson was an idiot and Smith was an original member of the team smart enough not to throw such an obvious pass, or they'd planned it.

When the Quaffle went to Brown, Oliver made a reach for it, but he hadn't made it in time. The very second Brown caught it, however, Dollie was on him. Before the Tornado could get a good grip on the ball, he snatched it right out of his hand.

Seeing that Dollie was cut off from turning around, Oliver kept going down towards Puddlemere's goals, bypassing the Chasers who didn't think anything of it. Dollie heaved the Quaffle at him, and as soon as Oliver had it in his right hand, he rolled to the left.

Not having the time to turn, he let the Quaffle go before he was completely upside down, and righted himself just in time to see Upton catch it and beeline for the goal posts.

Halfway to the Tornados' goal posts, Smith and Jackson caught up with him. He dodged a tackle from Jackson, but it sent him right towards Smith; Dollie chose to at least keep the Quaffle away for another few seconds and tossed it blindly into the air.

Reaching out for it, Oliver could nearly feel the leather on his fingertips, and then another shape came into his focus behind it; it was also spherical, and getting larger. A Bludger had been sent straight at his face by one of the Tornados' Beaters.

He really tried to make it, all he needed was another second, but the Bludger was just too fast. Grabbing back onto his broom tightly, Oliver veered off as hard as he could, hearing a frightening _woosh_ as the Bludger zipped by his head.

He regained his balance just in time to see Jackson heading back with the Quaffle.

* * *

_"And Wood narrowly misses the Quaffle, to say nothing of a Bludger attack!"_

**"Oliver Wood is an example of a problem the Tornados have had to deal with on a larger scale...he's much better trained as a Keeper, but you don't go into a game with the team you wish you had, you go in with the team you've got at this very moment..."**

"Oh, can you believe them," Conner scoffed. "Ollie played the whole other team for fools with that fake-out a minute ago!"

It took Jessica a second to realize that Conner was criticizing the commentators, not the Tornados. She moved her view away from Oliver and focused on Jackson, constantly peeking over the lens to watch as Oliver and Upton gave chase.

Oliver's mother had a much better handle on keeping track of everything at once; she pointed slightly downward, underneath the Quaffle action. "And the windies aren't the only ones with Beaters!"

When Anderson sent a Bludger at Jackson, it seemed like a sure-fire hit; but he jerked his weight to one side, completely losing control of his broom for a moment, avoiding the Bludger completely.

It missed Oliver, but winged Upton, and Oliver was thrown so far off course that he never had any chance of catching up to Jackson.

After Jackson passed the Quaffle, Brown caught it while barrel-rolling to the left and came out of the maneuver shooting for a goal hoop. Garret miscalled the direction completely, and he missed the save.

A very sizeable portion of the crowd let out a "boo."

**"Brown scores for the Tornados; Tutshill Tornados make the first goal of the game!"**

_"Garret really dropped the ball on that one, so to speak. Even a good Keeper like that can make mistakes."_

"Don't you worry," Oakley didn't sound like she was trying to be reassuring; she sounded like she was _certain._ "Game's just getting started!"

When the Tornados scored a second goal, Oliver had just about enough. He pulled up beside Dollie and threw him the hand signal that meant 'flank the Chaser in possession from the left,' but to Oliver, it really meant, 'help me get that Quaffle so I can make the opposing Keeper feel pathetic.'

It turned out that fate was on their side. Brown and Jackson were harassing Upton as soon as he got his hands on the Quaffle; Upton had nowhere to go, the opposing Chasers kept cutting him off every time he turned, but he managed to out-maneuver their attempts at tackling.

Waiting for just the right moment, when Brown lunged for the Quaffle and missed, when Jackson missed a second later, Upton threw the Quaffle before either of them could recover.

Dollie caught it; with two Chasers now bearing down on _him,_ he waited until the last moment and passed it to Oliver. Smith, the only Tornado Chaser not after Upton, was too far away to make a difference.

As much as their aggression had worked for them, the Tornados' relative inexperience showed here. Had one of them tried to cover Oliver, Upton wouldn't have been able to make the pass.

As it was, Oliver was better on his broom than Smith; he faked to the left and then zoomed by Smith to the right, with a near-clear run to the goal posts.

Had he been closer to start with, he would've made it uninterrupted. With the distance he had to cover, Oliver saw Jackson catch up to him out of the corner of his eye, coming in from the left. Watching the Keeper float between the middle and left posts, Oliver went for the left.

As the Keeper moved closer to the hoop, as Jackson closed in, Oliver raised the Quaffle, looked straight ahead...and banked hard to the right. Using his momentum to help, he chucked the Quaffle over to Dollie.

Not even bothering to catch it, Dollie came to an abrupt stop and spun on the spot, whacking the Quaffle with the back of his broom clear through the right hoop.

* * *

"Wooooo! Go Oliver!" 

Jessica was quite certain that Conner would tease her relentlessly for getting just as much into the game as he was. She felt safe, however; Oliver's mother shouted even louder.

"Wow, look at that," Conner exclaimed, looking over his Omnioculars and pointing towards Dollie, as he and Upton passed the Quaffle between themselves. On the forth pass, they sent it to Oliver, but Jackson had slipped between them.

**"Jackson intercepts the Quaffle, slippery move there!"**

_"Maybe a lucky one, too...Wood had a clear line to the goal, if he'd gotten it."_

**"We may be seeing Oliver Wood make for the goal posts after all, he's giving chase, Wood is closing in on Jackson..."**

"He's coming up from under, look," Conner said.

"Oh," Oliver's mother suddenly blanched; she recognized the motions as soon as Oliver began to lean up on his broom. "Oh no, he's _not..._"

* * *

Balancing carefully on his broom as he pushed up, Oliver committed fully to his maneuver and pushed all the way off, his legs guiding his broom underneath Jackson as he went into the air. Both hands reached up, he clamped them both down firmly on the Quaffle, still in Jackson's hand. 

He had the extreme fortune of jumping when Jackson had been glancing in the other direction, as he hadn't quite generated the momentum he needed to effectively cartwheel over to Jackson's other side. He pushed off the Quaffle and pivoted around, making it just as Jackson lost his grip.

Seeing his broom come out below him, Oliver took a split-second to glance upwards and find Upton. Hurling the Quaffle with both hands as he finished the flip, Oliver felt satisfied when Upton caught it.

He felt less satisfied when he stuck the landing on his broom, and caught a foot on it.

Heart stopped for that one moment, Oliver felt himself falling forward, an accident that would've been a simple trip if he'd been on the ground.

Flailing, Oliver felt his hand hit his broom and clamped down tight, his other hand soon following. By the time he had some semblance of a grip, his broom had turned vertical from the awkward weight, bobbing about precariously in the air.

This was a problem; it made it much more difficult to get a good grip, and Oliver didn't think he'd have been able to hold on at all if not for his glove. Reaching up to get a hand higher, so he could throw his weight down and right the broom, Oliver only succeeded in letting his other hand slip.

"Wood!"

Marcus Flint broke off from his Snitch hunt and angled towards Oliver at top speed. For once not caring that it was Flint for once, Oliver gladly extended his now-free hand when he saw Flint reach out. The moment their eyes locked...Oliver's other hand slid clean off of his broom.

The last coherent thing Oliver saw was a look of surprise on Flint's face. He felt their fingers brush by each other, felt Flint's hand close but miss, grabbing a bit of sleeve, nowhere near enough to make any kind of difference.

The first two seconds were the most disorienting; he didn't fall straight down, he started tumbling right off the bad. Two seconds was too long to lose in freefall; it took Oliver another two seconds to reach for his wand at his leg, another second to point it at the ground when he tumbled end-over-end and it came into view. _"Tomentio!"_

The cushioning charm hit the ground less than a second before Oliver did. It was enough to save him from serious injury, slowing him down at the last possible second, but it wasn't perfect; Oliver landed on his left arm, and though he didn't feel it when it happened, he heard the crack of a bone breaking. Unable to stop, he rolled twice through the tall grass, coming to rest on his back right in the middle of a swampy puddle of water.

Squinting his eyes, Oliver could just barely make out the shapes of brooms flying overhead.

* * *

As much as Oliver's father didn't get excitable over Quidditch itself, he was _more_ than excitable over Oliver falling to the ground, leaning halfway over the railing as if it would focus his omnioculars better. "He's moving, he's moving!" 

"Oh, thank heavens!" Mrs. Wood breathed a sigh of relief, but she wasn't calm by any means. "Imagine, trying that move in his weight class! I'm going to _kill_ him!"

**"Oliver Wood making the pass but botching the landing of his maneuver, the Mediwizards are reaching him now..."**

_"Looks like they're signaling that he's okay. An impressive attempt at a Sabryn Steal for someone of Wood's build, but he didn't quite have the agility to make the landing, it looked like!"_

**"An impressive show of sportsmanship from Tutshill's Seeker, as well, though Flint was obviously unsuccessful in making that save..."**

Not having the faintest idea what wizarding medicine was like, Jessica and Conner could only join Oliver's parents in staring down at him; Conner had his voice back first. "Look, he's standing up, that's a good sign, right?"

"Oh, they'd have carted him off already if it was serious," Oliver's father breathed an enormous sigh of relief. "Thickheaded as he is, I imagine he'll be back into it shortly."

"They'd have stopped the game if he was worse off, too," Oakly pointed up, "See, they just brought in a reserve until they clear him to fly. I still can't believe he tried that!"

_"An update from the Mediwizards; Wood isn't seriously injured, they're mending a broken arm now and they expect him to be back in the game momentarily."_

**"Good news for Puddlemere from a gaming standpoint, I'm sure. Their reserve Chaser, Steddler, can't seem to keep possession of the Quaffle very well..."**

Collectively, Conner and Jessica, right along with Oliver's parents, let out a breath.

* * *

"I'm _fine,_" Oliver groaned. His arm was ridiculously sore, but that was to be expected. He could use it again, though, which means he could get back in the game. 

The Mediwitch going over him with a fine-tooth comb wasn't satisfied. "Young man, you're _bleeding._"

"Details!" Oliver practically shrieked, but she ignored him and simply tapped her wand to a large gash above his ear.

_"Episkey."_

The other Mediwizard put one last mending charm on his arm. "How's that?"

"Hurts like hell, but I've had worse," Oliver tried to bend the elbow back and forth a few times, knowing that it would take days for the stiffness and dull throb to go away, but he didn't care. When he realized what he'd said, he quickly added, "I mean, it's fine! Perfect!"

To his surprise, the cranky witch gave him the O-K, and all Oliver had to do next was walk the few steps over to where his broom had landed. Fresh adrenaline driving him as he swung himself onto the broom and took off, Oliver made a resolve.

He would demonstrate to the Tornados that they'd seen _nothing_ yet.


	16. That Actually Happened

**Oliver Wood and the Muggleborn's Wand  
**Chapter 16  
_Alhazred - ssjDOTalhazredATgmailDOTcom - alhazredDOTlivejournalDOTcom  
Not For Profit work. Harry Potter and related materials © J.K. Rowling._

_"As we enter hour five of the game, Puddlemere United's Keeper blocks a shot to his middle goal. Garret almost fell off his broom to make that save, and it just goes to show you that the position of Keeper can sometimes go underappreciated!"_

**"Being a Keeper means the potential to fall off your broom if it means getting that extra few inches of reach at any given moment, certainly requires a different frame of mind than most people imagine; thanks to Garret's broom work, Puddlemere remains over a hundred points ahead, four-ninety to Tutshill's three-eighty."**

_"It's still anybody's game; Garret returns the Quaffle to the pitch; Dollie with the Quaffle!"_

Oliver made a successful block at Jackson; blocking Chasers intent on tackling the Quaffle-holder was a skill he picked up quickly, and a skill the entire team encouraged during practice. Flying at Jackson on a collision course and making only minimal adjustments to his flight, relying on Jackson to make the abrupt change in direction, required the same kind of chutzpah as deliberately losing balance on one's broom while playing Keeper, just to block a shot.

Oliver had no problem with this. When Jackson tried to swerve away and then angle back at Dollie, Oliver simply charged straight ahead and got right in the way once again.

"Wood," he heard Dollie yell, "Go north!"

That was fake-out talk. Immediately, Oliver knew that Upton must've been somewhere behind him. Dollie tossed him the Quaffle, and the second Oliver clamped his fingers down on it, Jackson edged closer and swung an arm out for a grab.

Oliver was already taking action. He dropped his altitude and speed, angling left and passing under Jackson before the other Chaser put his hand back on his broom. Not even bothering to look, Oliver chucked the Quaffle behind himself, over his head.

A quick glance after that gave him the sight of Upton catching it. In front, Jackson was slowing down, not yet realizing that Oliver had made the pass. Zooming by him, Upton waited for Jackson to correct his error and give chase, before tossing it right back to Oliver. Victoria zoomed right by him, ignoring him completely as she looked around for the Snitch, Flint not far behind.

And thus came the grand finale; Oliver gained as much ground in front of Jackson as he could, ducking to the left in an effort to gain just a few more feet before he hawked the Quaffle back to Dollie.

It almost worked, but Brown and Smith were already ahead of him. Shooting between them, Dollie bought himself a few more seconds, he just couldn't reach the goals before Smith lunged at him.

He waited until the last possible moment and passed to Oliver. Jackson was trying to reach him, but Oliver had the opening already.

Soaring upwards as he caught the Quaffle, Oliver reached a decent height and then dove down as fast as his Firebolt would go, on a forty-five degree angle for the right goal hoop.

It became the point of Oliver's existence; nothing else mattered but making the shot. If he weren't in the middle of a game, he would be thinking that he was the lowest-scoring Chaser on his team so far. He would be trying to tell himself that, considering the situation, he had still done an impressive job. He would be trying to tell himself that, even if he wasn't the next great Quidditch superstar, he was certainly not in danger of being replaced anytime soon.

Halfway to the right goal hoop, and none of these thoughts had occurred to Oliver. The Tornados' Keeper was firmly dug in right in front of the ring, glaring up at him, fully intent on being a human wall if need be.

Three-quarters of the way there, and Oliver changed nothing, except tightening his arm to hold the Quaffle close to his side. A second later, he made his move. Jerking the front of his broom up, Oliver pushed off and straight into the air, riding up with the jolt of momentum. Three feet above his broom, he let the Quaffle go, pushing it up and just a little in front.

Five feet off of it, he brought his arm up, hand held high. Six feet, and he spiked the Quaffle with every ounce of strength he had.

The Keeper didn't realize it until it was far, far too late. In fact, he wouldn't have had enough time if he'd started moving to the left goal right off the bat. Having fooled him completely, Oliver landed perfectly on his falling broom just as the score bell went off and echoed across the pitch.

**"Dionysus Dive, Oliver Wood with a perfect Dionysus Dive scoring Puddlemere's fiftieth goal! Puddlemere United leads five-hundred to...down near the ground, the Seekers are neck and neck! The Golden Snitch must be right in front of them!"**

_"I think you're right, Martin! Flint and Victoria are crisscrossing each other and the Bludgers like their lives depend on it!"_

It all happened so fast, before the Keeper even threw the Quaffle back into play. Oliver knew Victoria would win them the game right off the bat; she was half Flint's size and not only faster for it, but maneuvered better. Seeing the Snitch first would've won Marcus the catch, but neck and neck with the small woman, he didn't have a hope.

He was trying to use his weight advantage to push her off-course, but every time he shoved at her, she simply scooted around him. She even dodged easily when a Tornados Beater sent a Bludger at her side.

It was then that it all went horribly wrong. Alex Anderson sent a Bludger at Flint's face when he caught up to one circling in front. Flint tried to get out of the way, but the Bludger caught his shoulder.

Being twice Victoria's weight, he had no trouble staying on his broom after such a minor blow. She fell off when it deflected square into her chest. No sooner had it happened than Flint leapt from his broom, landing face-first on the swampy ground, skidding spectacularly while his broom crashed and rolled away from him.

One hand held up in triumph before he even tried to stand, Flint had all eyes on him. Oliver felt his stomach drop, nearly rolled right off of his broom as he realized what the announcers were about to say. Five seconds ago, he'd scored a fantastic goal. And now...

**"Flint has the Snitch! Flint has the Snitch!"**

_"Marcus Flint caught the Snitch, it's over! What an upset! The Tornados win! Tutshill Tornados win, five-hundred-thirty to five-hundred!"_

Their Seekers on the ground, both teams landed instead of basking in the game's afterglow in the air, Puddlemere to check on Victoria, the Tornados to throw Flint into the air.

Oliver landed just in time to hear a Mediwitch tell Coach Murphy that Victoria had come away from the Bludger with a broken sternum; they were laying her out on a stretcher, though the pain wasn't enough to distract her from the same depression hitting the entire team. "Sorry, Coach," she gurgled up, "I blew it..."

Coach Murphy was infuriated, just not about the game. He wasn't the type to put anything before the health of his team. "For the love of...you have broken bones, idiot! Worry about it when I bust your arse harder in practice!"

She wouldn't be making it to practice for a couple of weeks, at least. The thought sent Oliver's hand to the arm that had been broken; it was still sore, and now that he'd finished the game, it felt like he'd lifted weights with it for ten hours straight. Victoria would be even worse off.

Unwilling to stand around and mope near his team, because it just made him feel _guilty,_ Oliver hefted his broom over his shoulders and shuffled through the grass. The swamp water eventually soaked through his boots like it had already soaked through his robes the first time he fell, and he knew the smell had stuck already, like it always did.

He made no effort to appear humble as he approached the Tornados, though he was sure he didn't need to put effort into it. He felt incredibly pathetic. None of them even noticed him; they were too busy hooting, hollaring, and putting Flint down when he swore at them for not thinking of the ribs he'd broken in his dive for the Snitch. "Flint."

Marcus was the only one really surprised at Oliver's presence, his eyebrows raising ever so slightly, his teammates immediately quieting themselves in anticipation of whatever Oliver might further do to cement their victory. "What do you want, Wood?"

The words spilled from Oliver's mouth automatically. He meant them, he really did, but still...it _was_ Flint, after all. "Nice catch."

For that single moment, it was like being back in school, only not. The tension was there, but Oliver never would've given Flint an actual compliment. Nor would Flint have answered with, "Thanks."

"Why'd you do it?" Oliver blurted out. He had no idea why he felt a need to ask. "Why'd you grab at me when I fell? I always figured you _wanted_ to see me crash and burn..."

"Hah!"

Flint looked so ecstatic; Oliver was surprised that he didn't burst out into laughter. When Flint took a step forward and, despite his injuries, grabbed Oliver in a light, sporting hug, Oliver felt like he wasn't in reality anymore.

None of that compared to the surprise of the words Flint whispered when he was close and no one else could hear. "Wood...if I had what I wanted, I'd be grabbing at you in my bed after the game instead of trying to grab you every time you're falling away."

Near them, the flash of a camera filled their spot of the pitch with light.

"Well, th- wait, _what._" It was too much. Oliver couldn't believe it. Did Flint, _Marcus Flint,_ who he'd been in so many fights with, just say that? Oliver couldn't help but think, _Did that just __**happen?**_

Flint was already gone, backing up to his team, to the celebration waiting for him. His fingers and thumb in a circle, Marcus gave Oliver a salute from above the eye. Smiling that crooked smile of his, as if he'd accomplished something tremendously unfair, he said, "Be seeing you."

Totally scandalized, Oliver turned around and walked back towards his team. It was even more depressing, seeing everyone as the wishful losers from afar.

He wondered if Jessica and Conner were looking down at him right now, and if the sight of him made them feel the same way.


	17. Interval:03

**Oliver Wood and the Muggleborn's Wand  
**Chapter 17  
_Alhazred - ssjDOTalhazredATgmailDOTcom - alhazredDOTlivejournalDOTcom  
Not For Profit work. Harry Potter and related materials © J.K. Rowling._

"Ooohhh, your teammates are a blast, Ollie." No sooner had the words left Conner's mouth than he tripped on something trivial, an uneven crack in the sidewalk with rough ice caked over it. Jessica tried to catch him, though he wasn't going to fall anyway. "I'm a little drunk..."

Oliver and Jessica weren't nearly as sloshed as Conner; they had a buzz going on, though. It didn't sap their intelligence enough to try driving the five minutes home when they'd finally taken the Portkey, and Oliver wondered if Conner would remember his car was still parked near the school.

"Oh, we can tell," Jessica let out a soft giggle, smiling up at Oliver. Everything seemed funnier than it should have.

Oliver was the most sober of the three, by virtue of having too much on his mind for the small amount of alcohol he'd consumed. The after-game party had been more of a short way if sharing misery, with half of Puddlemere United getting so drunk they wouldn't remember losing, and the other half getting barely drunk so they could check on Victoria sooner rather than later.

It was hard enough seeing his parents home; Oliver knew, intelligently, that they would never be disappointed in his performance - he wasn't even the Seeker - but there was an irrational hurt to losing the game. He'd always, _always_ been a good sportsman, the closet he'd ever come to being a sore loser had been when the Dementors knocked Potter off his broom.

And yet, now, he couldn't help but feel bothered, as if he was torn in two.

Still, Oliver had to make sure Jessica and Conner got home safely, so he hadn't downed a bottle of vodka to escape the sting of defeat.

Conner did not make it as far as his bedroom. He flopped onto their couch, and Oliver took care in nudging him around, until he was lying on his side. He didn't think Conner was _that_ drunk, but Oliver didn't know how drunk Conner could be before his stomach decided it'd had enough.

"Mmmm, great game, man." His voiced faded more with every word. The couch may as well have been enchanted to make someone laying down on it feel sleepy, for all the time it took him to pass out.

"Well," Jessica said, straightening her posture, "_That's_ taken care of."

Oliver couldn't help but smile. "I'm glad he had a good time...err, you had a good time, right?"

"Are you kidding?" She did that giggle again, and it made Oliver blush. "That was bloody _awesome,_ Oliver. We can do that again sometime, right? Please?"

Thrilled at her response, thrilled even more that she didn't mention the loss, Oliver turned a slightly darker shade of red. "Aye, I'd love it if you'd come to another game sometime...'specially now that my parents have gotten it out of their system." Silence followed; with her question answered, Jessica couldn't think of anything sensible to say anymore. Feeling a need to say something, he said the only thing he could think of. "You want some coffee or something?"

"How about water," she said, tapping the side of her head with her index finger. "Much better anti-hangover medication."

"Yeah," Oliver nodded. "Yeah."

It had been an implied invitation to his flat, and, despite the fact that Jessica's kitchen sink was in perfect working order, that was where they ended up. Oliver had no couch or anything else to sit on besides the kitchen table; he left Jessica there with a glass of water. "Give me a sec, I need some fresh clothes."

He was suddenly _very_ conscious of the fact that he needed a shower. Once his Quidditch robes were discarded in the corner, he returned to her wearing a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt that didn't _entirely _hide the need to get swamp off of himself, but it was enough.

She smelled nice, in comparison. Not like a swamp, but like the saner part of a Quidditch game, like the lawn they'd camped out on and the cleaner, watery smell of the pitch above the grass at the bottom. Oliver's mind was slow enough that contemplating this reduced him into a near-catatonic state.

"Oliver?" She waved a hand in front of his face. Watching him jump, she added, "You still awake?"

"Barely," he said. "I can't believe the game was only a few hours ago...feels so long ago it's like it never happened."

Eyeing the windows, Jessica's face fell slightly. "That's because the sun's coming up. Between the game and going out with your team...no wonder Conner told me to take the day after it off of work, too."

"So you really had a good time, then," Oliver smiled. He just loved hearing her answer.

"Just don't tell Conner, he'll never let me live it down, that I like a sport as much as he does."

Laughing, Oliver started to wonder how late into the afternoon he would sleep.

* * *

"Oliver..._**Oliver!**_" 

The landscape was surreal, as if the sky was on fire. There weren't any spectators in the pitch, but the stands were far too low, like a Muggle football stadium.

Oliver felt fear, but not of the voice. The voice was his own, and he wasn't surprised to see his Other running towards him across the grass when he turned around. Golden fireflies brighter than light bulbs danced about the tall grass, giving the man a strange glow.

What frightened Oliver was the look on his face. The red eyes were even stranger now, with a look of fear in them. Oliver said nothing, even as the Other grabbed his arms and shook him. "Oliver, what are you doing? Can't you sense it? Can't you _feel_ it?"

A _thump,_ the distinct sound of something blunt hitting skin...the Other's look grew vacant, his eyes slid half-closed as he fell forward. Oliver caught him, seeing the man who'd hit him in the head standing just behind.

There was no object in the man's hands he could've struck with. He had no discernable features; he was someone Oliver didn't know, decked out in a simple black cloak with a hood that hid his face. Confused, Oliver merely watched.

His feet wouldn't move when he tried to make them. The sight that played out before him made very little sense; the enigmatic man hefted the Other up, ignoring Oliver completely. And Oliver watched on as his counterpart was thrown unceremoniously onto the back of the unicorn, a unicorn that the hooded man mounted and rode away. The pitch was gone now, replaced by open swampland.

Soon enough, the unicorn was out of sight.


	18. The Crux of the Problem, Part 1

**Oliver Wood and the Muggleborn's Wand  
**Chapter 18  
_Alhazred - ssjDOTalhazredATgmailDOTcom - alhazredDOTlivejournalDOTcom  
Not For Profit work. Harry Potter and related materials © J.K. Rowling._

Oliver wasn't, at all, sure how he and Jessica had ended up in his bed together. While he was sure Conner would've passed out if he saw them, there wasn't anything truly _compromising_ about it. From the way she was shivering in her sleep, she seemed to be clinging to him for warmth more than anything.

He hadn't been properly drunk, so he didn't need to check and see if they were still clothed. He remembered going to bed without taking anything off. Likewise, he remembered going to bed as the sun came up, so while the light coming in through the open window was obnoxious, it wasn't unexpected.

Content, Oliver closed his eyes again, fully prepared to waste the day getting more sleep. His arm was still throbbing, everything below his hair was sore, and awkward or not, having some human company this close was nice. It was oddly calming. Maybe it was that stuff Flint had said after the game. Yes, that made sense. Having Jessica close certainly helped to scrub his brain clean of _that_ particular weirdness.

Then the owl perched outside of the window and started pecking on it.

Really, Oliver wondered why he didn't fall to the floor right there. He managed to gently tug himself away from Jessica as the haughty brown owl waited patiently. Once Oliver's feet hit the floor and he padded over, he steeled his resolve against the cold undoubtely waiting and opened the window.

The owl hooted once, dropped a package with a letter attached on the windowsill, and then flew away. Cold air from outside blew in at Oliver, and it was dramatically uncomfortable even for the second it took him to close the window.

The delivery was the Sunday edition of the _Daily Prophet,_ with a note from his parents explaining that they'd bought him a subscription. "Oh, joy. Bad news delivered right through my window every day..."

His first thought upon seeing the picture on the front page was that he'd just rammed his foot down his throat. The picture was Marcus hugging him, and Oliver could see the look on his own face when Marcus pulled away. He knew why he looked bewildered, knew what Marcus had said, words the picture hadn't captured.

For a moment, Oliver panicked. Had Rita Skeeter overheard what Flint said?

When he looked at the rest of the page, Oliver's stomach settled down. The byline wasn't Rita's, and the headline read, **"Tutshill Tornados Win First Quidditch Game Since The End Of You-Know-Who!"**

Indeed, the picture was relevant to a subject not entirely related to the game itself; skimming the article, Oliver read it aloud, in a hushed voice so as not to wake Jessica. "'Perhaps the most important aspect of this game was its exemplary display of sportsmanship, reflecting well on the status of the Wizarding world as we come out of such dark times. Marcus Flint and Oliver Wood, known to have been fierce Quidditch rivals during their time at Hogwarts, are now a shining example of what we should all strive to be...'"

Folding the paper back over itself and tossing it gently to an empty spot on the bed, Oliver felt a little jilted. Flint wasn't any friendlier than he'd been at Hogwarts, just..._gay,_ apparently.

It didn't really bother Oliver. He just felt somehow off, like his dream had prophesied the end of the world and he was just waiting for it to happen.

His dream.

He hadn't remembered it when he first woke up, but now...spinning on his heels, Oliver wasn't sure what he expected. His Other staring at him from the other side of the window, maybe. There was nothing there, no red eyes, nothing but a feeling of emptiness. Something was _missing,_ Oliver just couldn't figure out what.

Jessica seemed fine, still unconscious and curled up under her Puddlemere robe. It was rather touching, in a way that Oliver would never, ever admit out loud, that she'd slept a night right next to him without a second thought. He hadn't been even that close to anything since Katie. Even _before_ Katie.

His hand picked up Katie's photo from the bureau without even looking. Thinking of her made Oliver realize just how much he'd moved on with his life in the last few months without even realizing it. Seeing her face, frozen and smiling up at him, he couldn't help but think that he had no _right_ to be happy, to have friends and to watch his dreams come true around him while she lay dead in the memorial cemetery.

"I got him," he whispered, "I murdered the bastard who murdered _you_...and I don't really know if you'd even like that I did it...but I try real hard to think you would...I never would've guessed my life would've turned out like this..."

As little as six months ago, Oliver had been sure that his life would inextricably involve Katie, that they would be thinking about when to have their wedding by now, that they might entertain fleeting thoughts of starting a family at some point.

Instead, Oliver was alone, or _nearly_ alone, in a Muggle town where no one would bother him about the war. Conner and Jessica were good friends; they had the sense not to ask for more when he only volunteered enough information to get the point across.

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, Oliver realized that Jessica falling asleep curled up next to him was not something 'simple' friends normally did, that he could at least ask her out to dinner, maybe even a movie.

But it hadn't even been six months. What kind of respect for the dead was _that?_

Fleetingly, Oliver reached to the bureau again, intent on picking up Katie's wand, feeling the warmth it always seemed to give off. For being nothing more than the wand of a fallen witch, it seemed as though its purpose in this world was to comfort him as best it could. As if Katie herself was trying to ease him, through it.

Oliver turned his head and saw the sight before him, knew what he was looking at, but didn't fully _understand_ it until his hand laid down on the wood and felt...nothing. He _saw_ nothing, a near-blank space where the photograph in his hand and the wand nowhere in sight once sat, occupied only by the ring he'd given her.

The wand was gone. "No." It wasn't possible. He never put that wand anywhere else. _"No!"_ It couldn't have rolled off. The wood wasn't polished, the wand wasn't perfectly round. It had never moved of its own accord, there were no marks left in the light layer of dust save for the outline of where it had been.

Oliver knew all of this, knew it even as he opened each drawer and rummaged through his clothes, slamming each shut and moving to the next, he knew it was futile, but it _had_ to have just rolled off. No other explanation would allow the world to continue making any kind of sense.

By the third drawer, Jessica had stirred. She was groggy at first, and then startled, not at the noise Oliver was making, but at what her sleep-addled brain was perceiving. "What the hell am...oh, Oliver, thank god, I thought I was at..."

She stopped talking the instant she sat up and actually _looked_ at him. Oliver seemed feverish, a look of abject horror on his face. He practically dove to the floor so he could look under the bed, acknowledging her presence the way one acknowledges a hallucination. "It can't be gone! It's got to be here, right? It can't be _gone._"

Slipping off the bed, keeping the Quidditch robe around her shoulders for warmth, she said, "Oliver, calm down...what's wrong?"

Stopping cold, Oliver spent a long second looking at her. He became aware of what he looked like, going mad over the missing object. It wasn't like he'd suddenly forgotten Katie, having something so personal of hers was nice, yes, but he couldn't shake the feeling that there was something deeper about this. He felt it in his very soul, as if someone was dancing all over his grave. "It's...it's gone...Katie's wand...I always keep it right here."

She didn't criticize him for the way he was acting over it, didn't judge him. She didn't dare assume that she knew even a little about how he felt after going through the things he had. "Okay, okay...take a deep breath, and think...it has to be here somewhere, right? You do that weird thing with the squishy noise on the door whenever you go out, so it's not like someone could just walk in and steal stuff...right?"

"Yeah," Oliver thought back to putting the locking charm on the door, remembered that familiar squelching noise, and remembered...that he hadn't heard it in several days. He hadn't heard it again since the last time he'd _un_-locked the door, and the last time he'd unlocked the door was -

_Once out the door, Oliver closed it and promptly leaned down to pull his wand from the sheath. "Colloportus." Precisely half of one second after the door squelched, he realized that he had, indeed, forgotten something. "Oh, for...good one, Wood. Alohamora."_

_Dashing back in, Oliver grabbed his broom from where it waited, propped up in the corner near the door. Leaving once more, he closed the door and let Jessica lead him to her flat._

- two days ago, and he hadn't been home at all in the time between, hadn't been home since early in the morning.

The revelation made Oliver sick. Physically ill, yes, but worse than that. He felt _poisoned,_ violated in the most personal way possible, his mind wounded and his body unsure how to follow suit.

"No...no, I didn't."

There was no other explanation; someone had taken Katie's wand.


	19. The Crux of the Problem, Part 2

**Oliver Wood and the Muggleborn's Wand  
**Chapter 19  
_Alhazred - ssjDOTalhazredATgmailDOTcom - alhazredDOTlivejournalDOTcom  
Not For Profit work. Harry Potter and related materials © J.K. Rowling. _

Oliver was sure that Percy had somehow arranged for this. It was the only explanation, and it was also yet another indication of how good a friend Percy was. This was the second time Oliver had grossly inconvenienced him in the recent past, third if he counted screaming at the poor man in the Leaky Cauldron.

This had to be the worst of all. Calling a Ministry official so he could use his pull to help make a report of a stolen wand seem more important than it really was...Oliver suspected that Percy was trying to make amends with his family by being overly nice to _everyone_ he knew, even if it meant bending rules.

It was the only explanation for why Harry Potter, Auror-in-training, was sitting across from Oliver at his kitchen table. It had taken Harry the better part of the afternoon to _get_ here, but...still.

Jessica had pulled up a chair next to him, sat with an arm over his shoulders, and stayed put, just like that, while Oliver gave his statement. "That was it...just came home and it was gone. Not a very exciting crime scene..."

"They never are," Harry said. He was scribbling notes down with a Muggle pen, on Muggle paper. "You can't Apparate into the flat? The door's the only way in?"

"Yeah, just the door, I took my sweet time on it when I moved in, but I put up the charm," Nodding, Oliver's eyes suddenly closed halfway, as if he were holding back tears. "No...no, all you'd need is a broom to get in through the windows. You could even climb, it's not high."

"Do the windows open from outside?"

Looking back up at Harry, Oliver wondered why, on Earth, that was important. "Err...no. And those, I remembered to lock, too...why?"

"Because," now Harry was tapping the end of his pen against the pad, the gears in his head turning, "If they don't open from the outside, it means it was either a Muggle or a wizard without a wand, or they'd have used magic to get in. They could've used an unlocking charm on the door every time you remembered to seal it up or something to get in through the window that wouldn't break it."

Shocked, Oliver thought back to the very first day he'd moved in, how he'd been so confident that locking the door magically made the place invincible. He'd just never thought he'd have to worry about anything but an unlikely Muggle burglar. "Oh..."

"And since the wand is the only thing that's been disturbed at all," Harry continued, "I'm inclined to believe it was a wizard without one to begin with. Or else it wouldn't have been touched."

"A Wizard stole Katie's wand," Oliver repeated. Breathing became hard; this information somehow made it even worse. The idea that a Muggle might've swiped something so useless to them was infuriating, but the idea that another wizard would steal Katie's wand, that piece of Oliver which meant nearly everything, for their own use, for their own _enjoyment..._

"Potter...please, you've got to find that wand."

Flipping his little notebook closed, Harry stood up. "I'll do my best, Oliver," he said, in a way that Oliver knew he wasn't just being patronized. "I can't promise much, unless you can find someone who saw them come inside while you were at Puddletown."

"You've got to," Oliver repeated, nonetheless. "You've got to...you don't know what it means to me..."

He didn't even try to get up, he just let Harry go. Once his old Seeker was gone and the door was shut, Oliver lost it. Crying in front of Harry Potter, of all people, was just out of the question. Crying in front of Jessica...well, she had stayed close for support this entire time. If he was going to stop holding back the tears in front of anyone, there wasn't anyone better. "I can't...I can't believe I...I let it get stolen..."

She took her arm off of his back when his shoulders started to shake, but she stayed close. "He'll find it, Oliver. He's your friend, right? Not just a random cop you don't know? He'll actually _want_ to find it."

"Yeah," Trying several times to take a full, deep breath, Oliver wiped his eyes with his sleeve. "Yeah...big tough guy I am, eh? It's not even my wand..."

"Oliver, you keep saying that, but you're still human," she said. Rubbing a hand over his back, she added, "And who cares of it's yours or not? It's _important_ to you. You've every right to be upset."

"It's not that, really." Oliver hicupped. He tried to bring his hand up to his chest, but it was hard to hold it steady. "Kate's in...in here. Her wand is just...I don't know, it just makes me feel at peace, because it's something that meant so much to her..."

"C'mon," she tugged, gently, at his back, "Let's go for a walk. I'll get you something to eat."

Part of him wanted to refuse, but he felt so utterly drained, that the path of least resistance won out easily. Nodding sheepishly, Oliver stood on wobbly legs. He wasn't sure he'd have been able to muster the will to walk at all, if not for Jessica staying close, nudging him on.

He didn't bother with the locking charm on his door; there was no point. He _did_ keep one hand gripped tightly on his wand, tucked nicely into his pocket. It wasn't Katie's, but it was some modicum of a ground to reality.

Jessica's idea of 'getting something to eat' turned out to be a chocolate bar at the closest convenience store once they hit Station Road. He ate it gingerly, piece by piece, while Jessica let him walk on without bothering him with talk.

It wasn't until they passed _King's Guard Surplus_ that she said something, her eyes dancing around as she surveyed the store inside the window. "I thought Conner said he couldn't get today off...hope he's not still home and hung-over..."

The mental image of Conner lying where they'd left him, but awake and groaning in agony, brought a faint smile to Oliver's face. He dropped another piece of chocolate into his mouth, and spoke around it. "Wouldn't surprise me...we should've gotten a picture..."

The chocolate actually made him feel a little better; good food did that, after all. Jessica thought he still looked like a train wreck, and she was right. His eyes were still red and puffy, they still ached, and his stomach still felt like it was displeased over the breakfast he hadn't had.

The world seemed a little clearer around him, though. Oliver stopped hearing the blood pump through his head, and his feet felt lighter. It was easier to _think,_ easier to believe that Harry would find something.

"We'll check on him when we get back," she added. It couldn't have been better if it were planned. Her phone rang from her pocket, and after taking a glance at the caller-ID, she looked back at Oliver and said, "Creepy, that." This done, she answered the call. "Conner! How's your head...wait, what? _Wait!_"

Watching Jessica pull the phone away from her ear and stare at the screen, Oliver raised an eyebrow. "What was _that_ about?"

"I don't know," she continued staring at her phone for several seconds, as if hoping it would give her an answer. "He just hung up. Said he wanted us to meet him over at 117 Cove Street."

Seeing no significance, Oliver asked the obvious question. "What's there?"

"St. John's Church," she shrugged, her eyes wandering up and down the street. She a feeling someone was going to tell her she was on Candid Camera any second now. "It's his church, I don't know why he didn't just say that..."

"Oh," Oliver nodded. Religion wasn't really his area of expertise. "Is he...praying?"

"I'll believe_that_ when I see it," said Jessica. "He's been moping about how he's a terrible person for only making it to church every other month for more than a year now. His family's always guilt-tripping him over it."

"Huh," Oliver started to stare off into space. Something didn't seem right. Conner could barely be dragged to church anymore, but now he was inviting others? It was an important place, and he described it with the street number? "Weird..."

It took a nudge from Jessica to spur Oliver into walking. He had no doubt she was planning on heading right back down Woodland Road for her car, and then to Cove Street to find Conner. He didn't protest.

Yet another strange detail presented itself when they reached their building; Conner's car was still in the lot. "That's a long walk," Jessica told him. "Probably just wondering what he was thinking and wants a ride home...you couldn't do that...disappearing thing of yours to get there, could you?"

"Not really," Oliver's shoulders slumped a little; he _hated_ admitting he wasn't good at something. "I'm not too great at it, see...if I'd been there before, maybe, but I'd be liable to mess it up with someone along side."

Chucking as she stuck her key into her car door, Jessica said, "Ah well, had to try."

The sun was setting by the time she pulled out of the driveway. It was something Oliver noticed, given Conner's sudden urge to go out for long walks. "I hope...I hope he's not upset over the whole magic thing again..."

For the briefest of moments, Oliver entertained the absurd idea of introducing Conner to Marcus Flint. Surely, being hit on by a man would push magic right out of his mind. Imagining the scene, Oliver caught himself grinning.

"No way," Jessica answered. "He has a fit over things, and then he doesn't remember what was so bad about it in the first place. It's how he works...for better or for worse."

The drive wasn't much longer than five minutes, and Oliver realized she hadn't been kidding when she said it was a long walk. The day had gone by so fast, and the sky was a brilliant mix of colors at one end as the sun fell under the horizon. Wondering if Conner had felt the same because of his walk, Oliver watched the shades of red and orange slowly fade. Or at least, he tried; the direction they drove in didn't always lend itself well to it.

As nice as it was, Oliver tried to stop seeing it after a minute. The colors started to remind him of his dreams, and his dreams reminded him of Katie's wand.

Trying so hard to avoid looking at the sky, it was only natural that Oliver caught sight of Conner before Jessica did. "Hey, there he is!"

Conner was standing next to the gates in front of the church. That was all; he was standing there, perfectly straight in his posture, not fidgeting, not leaning against the wall. The subtle lack of any body language made him look bizarre, even during the quick glimpse they saw while Jessica drove by.

She found a place to park soon enough, and she was out of the car faster than Oliver, just in front of him by the time she'd walked down the street far enough to be in comfortable shouting distance. "Conner!" He made no move at all; if he heard, he didn't seem to care. Increasing her gait to a mild jog with Oliver close behind, shouted louder. _"Conner!"_

His head turned, and, after staring at the two of them for a few seconds, Conner turned on the spot and walked through the gates.

A cold feeling ran through Oliver. This just cinched it, between the slightly-off phone call and the slightly-off hike and now the slightly-off robotic movements...so much was _slightly_ off that it added up to something being just plain _off._

"Wait," he grabbed Jessica on the arm, stopping her. "Wait, he's being a little _too_ weird...let me go first."

He wasn't at the point where he expected Conner to _ambush_ them, but the strange behavior was making him think of a possible reason. He wanted to be wrong. He probably _was_ wrong, but then again, he'd also thought nothing would ever happen if he stopped being paranoid and didn't put the locking charm on his door.

Through the gates, Oliver saw that the church had a decent amount of land around it. The building was off-center inside the perimeter of the rustic stone wall surrounding it, with a medium-sized graveyard occupying the right side of the property.

Conner was walking there, going right through the center. He left footprints in the snow; it hadn't been plowed or shoveled here like it had been in the streets and sidewalks and the sound of it crunching under his weight seemed loud. His walk was slow, as if he were counting the tombstones. The lack of real light made the cemetery look surreal, like Oliver was dreaming. The shadows were so intense that Conner white T-shirt made him stand out.

It wasn't until Oliver reached the threshold of the cemetery that he tried to say something. "Conner?" He hadn't expected a response, and, with Jessica still behind him, he ventured between the tombstones. Conner had stopped at the far end, and he was simply staring at the wall. Having had quite enough, Oliver pulled his wand. With his free hand, he tugged gently on Conner's shoulder, nudging him into turning him around.

It was like rotating a turnstile. Oliver finally had a good look at his face, at the blank stare, he was certain his hunch had been right.

"It's like he's on drugs," Jessica waved a hand in front of his face, to no effect.

"No," Oliver muttered, his teeth clenched. Slowly, the pieces came together. Conner had led them into a space enclosed by a wall with only one way out. He'd led them to a spot with obstacles laying about in no real pattern. In that moment, Oliver felt extremely, _extremely_ vulnerable. "He's _imperiused._"

_"Repello Muggletum!"_

Whirling around, wand pointed at where he thought the voice came from, Oliver saw nothing at first. Jessica had jumped, so he knew he wasn't just hearing things. Holding his wand close, Oliver decided that he wasn't going to play games. _"Homenum Revelio."_

Instantly, a blob of dark-blue mist, vaguely shaped as a human, appeared in the space between the cemetery and the front gate. Subtly tugging Jessica as he moved, getting her out of Conner's arm's reach, Oliver raised his voice. "Isn't it a little late for a Muggle-repelling charm?"

Realizing he was caught, perhaps not caring, the unknown wizard pulled off the invisibility cloak he was wearing and tossed it away. Once it was rumpled on the ground and slightly visible, Oliver could see that it was an expensive cloak, woven from Demiguise hair. A simple plank of wood was tied to the end of it, sure to cover over any footprints the wearer might leave.

Immediately, Oliver noticed the man was dressed in the robes of a Death Eater, sans the hood and mask. He took a small step forward, trying to keep Jessica and Conner behind him. He needed to keep track of Conner, as well; if he was made to do anything particularly nasty against his will, Oliver fully intended to blast him across the Cemetery with a stunner.

The Death Eater stepped forward as well, confidence gleaming in his eyes. He stopped at the first line of graves. "Not at all," he said. His voice carried a sense of finality. "The two of them are fine. I just don't want any interruptions."

The lampposts nailed to the wall flickered on, lighting the cemetery in white even as the sunset hadn't completely faded away. Staring intently, Oliver felt unnerved by the dark wizard before him. Something seemed _familiar_ about him, even though he was positive he'd never met the man. "Do I know you?"

"Oh no," the Death Eater said. "We've never met. You've met a friend of mine, you killed him the same night his son died."

Specific children dying didn't ring a bell with Oliver, but there was only one person he'd ever killed. Thinking back, he tried to remember what he should recognize about someone who called Crabbe a friend...he knew Crabbe's son had been in Draco Malfoy's clique since they started at Hogwarts four years behind Oliver himself.

Pansy Parkinson didn't seem relevant, but there was one other Oliver could remember, one other face that was always around if he bore witness to a Malfoy moment of bothering Harry Potter. Much like with Crabbe and his son, the resemblance was uncanny. "Goyle."

"Right," Goyle's answer was sharp.

Not nearly as sharp as Oliver's voice when he saw the wand in Goyle's hand, the wand that was most assuredly not his. "You've _no right_ to that."

"Don't talk to me about rights!" Indignant, Goyle was practically shouting at the top of his lungs. "Rights, like what Mudbloods are given at the expense of us? Rights, like when you live with _Muggles_ and let them into society? You kill a pureblood like it was nothing and you talk to me about _rights?_"

Oliver wasn't at all interested in Goyle's pureblood mania. He felt no desire to redeem the man, to convince him of the error in his ways, not even wishing to see his reaction if he found out the wand he'd stolen belonged to a Muggleborn. The only thing Oliver wanted was that wand _back_.

_And Jess and Conner getting out of here safetly...and Jess and Conner,_ he had to remind himself.

As such, he said nothing, and Goyle certainly wasn't done. "Well, that's all over for you now, little man. This will be worth everything I've gone through, waiting for you to leave that door open just to get a wand after you scared my Dementor away, being forced to live in a Muggle _shelter_ with the worst of the wretches...I'm going to make you watch _your_ friends die..."

Oliver laughed.

He wasn't hysterical, nor was he truly amused. The irony of the situation simply seemed humorous. His laugh sounded angry, starting deep in his throat and continuing until he'd wrapped his brain around how absurd this man really was. "You're an idiot."

"What?" Pointing Katie's wand halfway up, Goyle was so surprised by his lack of an ability to get a real rise out of Oliver that he stopped moving.

"You stand there," growled Oliver, "Ranting and raving about this and that...you're so indignant that I _killed the enemy?_ Are you _kidding_? And now here you are, threatening people that are important to me. You know what you and your friend have in common?" Oliver didn't wait for an answer, "You both do the exact same thing to _piss me off._" And before Goyle could fully process the idea that Oliver would go on a warpath instead of going without a fuss, Oliver swung his wand up. _"Reducto!"_

The Reductor Curse crashed through a tombstone as Goyle jumped out of the way, aiming Katie's wand right back. _"Crucio!"_

While Goyle had ducked for cover behind another tombstone, Oliver literally went for a dive, hearing the curse hit concrete somewhere behind him. Hauling himself up on a tombstone, trying to stay behind it for cover, he fired off another Reductor Curse. It bore through another grave marker just inches away from where Goyle stood behind it.

Expecting Goyle to take another potshot, Oliver ducked out just long enough to aim one of his own, and was more than a little surprised when he heard Goyle's incantation. _"Avada Kedavra!"_

Quickly ducking back behind the marker, Oliver had no time to wonder if it was adequate cover or not, no time to think before green light flared around it and the marble exploded in his face, sending him sprawling into his back.

Getting his eyes opened, Oliver looked up in time to see Goyle abandoning his cover, again flourishing his wand. Knowing what was coming, he pointed his want at a nearby grave. _"Accio headstone!"_

_"Avada Kedavra!"_

Again, green light met marble, and the tombstone exploded violently as it flew in front of Oliver. _"Stupefy,"_ he yelled, pushing himself up as he did so. Closer now, Goyle was almost hit by the stunner, but not quite. When he ducked back out from behind his cover, he only pointed his wand in a seemingly random direction.

"Kill her," he shouted, "Kill her and cut your own throat!"

Conner and Jessica. Oliver had completely forgotten them in only such a short amount of time. Jessica had been hiding behind a grave herself, whereas Conner just stood next to her, still dazed out of his mind.

He didn't stay that way. Horrified, Oliver watched him pull a combat knife he must've gotten from work, and approach her. She noticed it as well, falling onto her back on account of the shock and trying to scurry away.

Not hearing her cry out in fright, Oliver only heard his own voice as he changed targets. He tore his throat raw, yelling _"Stupefy!_" and his spell hit Conner dead-on, sending him onto his back.

It was too much time to ignore an attacker. Whatever hex Goyle had hit Oliver's outstretched arm with, it was a good one. He nearly dropped his wand, barely managed to scamper back behind the graves for cover. His arm just above the elbow started to sting underneath the sleeves of his T-shirt and jacket, with a distinct wet sensation. The pain felt somehow dull, as if it should've been worse. Maybe it was shock.

Back pressed hard against a headstone, Oliver heaved breaths in and out of his lungs, trying to hear over himself. He listened for Goyle's footsteps and found a rough direction; the man wasn't the most intelligent person in the world, and he gave no thought to dead leaves and twigs crunching with the snow under his feet.

He didn't give any thought to being quiet at _all;_ he preferred taunting. "Hiding? You just want to watch me kill them first? Is that it?"

Knowing for sure that the man wasn't terribly close, Oliver yanked his jacket off quickly; the cold air bit into his skin, but it felt soothing on his arm, and he tried to calm his breathing down so he wasn't heaving out entire breaths that formed large clouds in front of his face. Chancing a look under his sleeve, Oliver found that a good portion of skin had been burned, not with fire or heat, but as though with acid. The outside of the wound was red and irritated, and the impact point radiated out an area of darker color as the skin peeled away, dotted with boils.

Really, it hurt a lot less than it looked like it should have. Forcing himself to not be concerned with it, Oliver tightened his grip on his wand. Pushing onto his feet and spinning around all at once, he leveled his wand at the first sight of black he saw.

_"Impedimenta,"_ he snarled, wondering what, exactly, he might do if he managed to disable Goyle. The thought was frightening and elating all at the same time.

His spell missed the mark, however. Taking the opportunity to retaliate, Goyle moved out of cover once more.

This time, Oliver planned on stopping the stalemate. He wanted to end the duel as fast as possible, and the best way to do that against someone like Goyle was to think creatively. Someone like Goyle usually only thought about what was right in front of their face.

Thinking this, Oliver had a wild idea, and he went with it. As Goyle fired off a curse, Oliver didn't attempt to counter it or send off a spell of his own. Focusing solely on the spot right behind Goyle, Oliver pulled off the best Apparation of his life.

It was _almost_ perfect. He'd reappeared facing the same direction he'd started in, which meant his back was to Goyle now, and he had to take the time to turn. It gave Goyle an extra second to figure out what was going on, and as they came into each others' eyesight once more, Oliver realized he would never raise his wand in time.

So he did the next best thing; he threw a left hook with his free hand, and decked Goyle square in the jaw.

Taking advantage of Goyle's surprise, Oliver kicked him in the gut as he stumbled, and brought his fist down to hit him again. Somehow, Goyle managed to regain his situational awareness and caught Oliver's wrist in his own free hand, bringing Katie's wand up with the other.

Oliver beat him by a hair, bringing his own wand-arm up the inside and pushing Goyle's away, getting Katie's wand pointed at anything but his face. For a moment, this worked fine...until Goyle's arm slid up and ran across the injury on Oliver's arm. Startled, Oliver let out a yelp and loosened his arm just enough for Goyle to get Katie's wand pointed at him. _"Incendio!"_

He knew he was in trouble as soon as he heard the first syllable. Throwing his head back, Oliver leaned to get further away, giving up balance for the sake of keeping his face. The fire charm flew right by his eyes, and he tried to push back as it passed, tried to force Goyle backwards now that he didn't need to dodge anything.

It worked at first, until Goyle dissaparated from the spot. Oliver had inspired him by doing it himself, it seemed. People like Goyle, thick in the skull and thin in the brains, were the types to be imitators rather than innovators. Turning, Oliver came face to face with him again; Goyle had reappeared in the middle of the lawn, away from the cemetery.

Then again, Goyle was still a Death Eater. As little as that meant in the post-war era, perhaps nothing more than a destiny in Azkaban, it didn't change the fact that the man knew dark magic and wasn't afraid to use it.

He hadn't expected Goyle to whip out anything incredibly flashy. The Muggle-repelling charm did nothing to obscure sights and sounds. When Goyle made a gesture with Katie's wand that Oliver didn't recognize, a rather complicated one, and shouted, _"Fulgoria,"_well, Oliver was caught a little off-guard.

The spell started out subtly enough, with a crackle of thunder and a pulse of light down the wand...and then all at once, light exploded from the tip. Pointed right at Oliver, Katie's wand let loose a massive, booming stream of lightning, several lines of bright-blue electricity curling and corkscrewing around in the air.

It was near-blinding, lighting up the cemetery as though daylight, melting the snow on the ground directly underneath as it traveled. Oliver's reflexes saved him, but just, _just_ barely. He pulled his hands close as it started, yelled out _"Protego!"_ and couldn't even hear himself over the sounds of Goyle's spell.

Oliver's shield charm strained instantly, deflecting the attack every which way but faltering under the curse's power. Oliver tried to hold on, he gave it everything he had, but he could still feel the force exerting on his hands, pushing them into his sternum as he held his wand in a deathgrip. His feet slid through the snow, the ground underneath slick and refusing to hold him in place against the lightning's push.

All at once, Oliver threw his arms out to the side, shouting a huge cry of rage and frustration. If his shield charm wouldn't be sufficient, he wouldn't stand there and wait to be fried; doing his best to change the bubble's shape, Oliver could already feel pricks of the spell hit his fingertips, he could feel the jolt in his hands and starting down his arms, but in the end, he succeeded.

Cast off in many directions, the lightning bowled over tombstones and melted snow, some of it flying through the air, some of the marble or concrete stones shattering, some simply slamming over.

The shattered ones, those were the ones Oliver focused on, making the motions even before the lightning died down and the light faded. He threw his arms up from the sides, crossing them at the wrists right over his head. Not even thinking of trying the spell non-verbally, Oliver called out, _"Leadocalxi!"_

The fragmented stone all around gathered into the air, swarming behind Oliver and climbing towards the sky in the span of a few seconds. Goyle's surprise at the sight of this, after watching his powerful curse be narrowly deflected, bought Oliver those precious seconds. He kept his arms up, wand in the air, kept his eyes on Goyle, and the spell reached its next stage. Every one of those broken pieces of stone, the small ones, the larger chunks, the marble, the concrete, the dull and the pointed...every one of them flew over Oliver's head or around his sides, picking up speed as the cloud of wrecked cemetery went straight for Goyle.

Goyle, for his part, had pretty good reflexes, too. Just in the nick of time, he disappeared. Frustrated, _infuriated,_ Oliver dropped his arms, and the stone flying through the air fell more naturally, dotting the pristine snow across the long with skid marks every which way.

Looking around, Oliver couldn't see where Goyle had went, but his thought that he might've run away was dispelled soon; a blast of fire hit Oliver square in the wand arm, right in the spot that had been burned already. He couldn't help it; the surprise of being caught off-guard and getting hit in that spot, coupled with the _pain,_ was just too much, and he fell over. His wand escaped his hand and rolled three or four inches, leaving a wide little trail on top of the snow.

"Gotcha."

Seeing Goyle to the side, Oliver rolled around and grabbed for his wand, but Goyle would have none of this. _"Sectumsempra."_

In the end, there was very little pain. The sensation was much worse, the feeling of flesh across Oliver's back coming apart, cleaved by a non-existent knife.

The sensation and the _blood_ and the scream that Oliver didn't realize was his own until he fell onto his back and felt himself bleeding onto the snow, felt it gout even more when he tried to move or breath...

Goyle had won. Oliver had no wand, he was going to bleed to death, and the man was walking calmly over, Katie's wand never faltering in its aim. He was going to die by Katie's wand, and Oliver was sure there was some irony in there even as Goyle gave him one last taunt, "I hope you don't think you're getting a Killing Curse...that's _far_ too easy..."

Then, Goyle screamed, more than Oliver had, as the knife went clean into his leg above the knee, all the way to the hilt. Oliver turned as Goyle did, both of them greeted by the sight of Conner standing tall, long free of the Imperius Curse, one arm outstretched from throwing the knife, the happy look on his face making it evident that he was thinking, 'I can't believe that _worked!_'

Nothing if not easy to anger, Goyle forgot Oliver and turned to Conner. His smile fading, Conner seemed ready to turn invisible and hide. Or at least, he seemed like he _wanted_ to, especially when Goyle, all of his weight on his other leg, snarled at him. "How _dare_ you! You filthy Muggle, you do this to _me?_ _Ava - _"

But Oliver had realized what Goyle was going to do the very moment he started to form the words, and his one thought was to protect his friends, to do whatever it took to ensure no harm came to them. In the heat of the moment, in the panic that came with forcing himself to roll over and grab his wand despite the huge cut going across his back, in the half of a second he had to figure out what he should actually do to stop him, Oliver could only think of one thing, one very simple thing that would unquestionably stop the Death Eater in his tracks.

As Oliver swung himself up onto one knee and pointed his wand, Goyle noticed him and quickly changed his aim back. He was too late to stop Oliver, and their respective curses were spoken as one, finished at the exact same time:

_"Avada Kedavra!"_

In that instant, Oliver knew he was going to die. He knew the Killing Curse couldn't be stopped, couldn't be countered or deflected by sending another spell through it. As their spells met and snaked around each other, he expected nothing more spectacular than the curses dodging each other to reach their intended destinations, content in the knowledge that, though he may die, he'd saved Jessica and Conner from Goyle's self-righteous, indignant wrath.

And then, instead of moving on through the air, the two lines of green light snapped together, _connecting,_ green turning into brilliant gold, a bright wave of light bounding out from the center between them with a crack like a Muggle gun being fired.

Goyle looked just as surprised as Oliver felt. The wand in his hand seemed to have a mind of its own as it started to shake. Oliver wasn't sure if the tingle in his hand was from blood loss or whatever it was his wand was doing, but he managed to stand, managed to ignore the wet feeling at his back, clasping his free hand over the one holding his wand to keep it steady.

He didn't know what to do, let alone what was going on. He hadn't saved Jessica and Conner after all, he would surely lose consciousness before he could figure out how to stop Goyle...in the end, Oliver had failed, and it hurt as badly as when Katie had died...out of the corner of his eye, he could see Conner standing next to Jessica, Jessica holding something next to her head...Jessica being surprised when another person appeared out of thin air right next to her...and Oliver could swear it was Harry Potter before he felt compelled to give the situation at hand all of his attention...

From the center between the two duelists, a dome of light formed out of the connection their wands made, the gold band between them staying ever locked. To his great shock, a misty, ethereal shape formed at the tip of Oliver's wand, growing until it spilled out and took a human form. It seemed less than a ghost, less than a real fragment of someone left over, but there was detail. It wore the robes of a Death Eater and the face of a man Oliver had murdered.

Ignoring Oliver, the shade of Crabbe glared down the twisting line of golden light, giving Goyle all of his attention. "What are you waiting for? _Kill him!_"

Not at all prepared for this, for the specter of a dead comrade to suddenly appear from nowhere, Goyle could only stare at the shade and barely speak, "What...what magic _is_ this..."

_"Kill him, Goyle!"_ Crabbe's ranting didn't calm down. "Kill the blood traitor! Kill the..."

Crabbe was gone, the mist forming his shape dissolved into the air as someone batted it away from behind with their arm. Oliver could barely see them out of the corner of his eye, wondered if Potter had somehow worked that special brand of magic he had, that knack for pulling off what everyone always thought was impossible...

Nothing could compare to the shock and fear Oliver experienced when a Quidditch-gloved hand came over his own, helping to steady him, helping to keep his wand from shaking its way clear out of his grip. Another gloved hand held onto his arm, and Oliver turned his head, seeing the too-dark red Gryffindor robes, seeing his own face staring back at him with red eyes.

And he heard his own voice, calming, soothing, a man sure of what was going to happen trying to reassure him in turn. "It's okay, Oliver. He can't hurt you, not _really._ Not as long as I'm here."

Nodding, Oliver looked back at Goyle, and knew from the look on Goyle's face that he wasn't imagining things. The Other was really standing there, really holding on, really trying to help, but...it couldn't be real. Duplicate, red-eyed versions of oneself didn't exist in reality; it had to be a dream...

"He doesn't know what's going on anymore than you do," the Other said. "He has no idea. This isn't really a contest...I can help, Oliver. I'll be around long enough. What do you want to do? Do you want to kill him? That's what you tried, right?"

Indeed, Oliver remembered casting the Killing Curse. He remembered hitting Crabbe with it, murdering the man for revenge. He still didn't feel sorry for it, still felt like Crabbe had deserved it, and yet, that one act had led to where he was right now, had led to his friends being put in danger. Would Goyle had even known who he was, if he'd merely stunned Crabbe and watched him be sent to Azkaban?

"I...no...no, I don't...I don't want to kill anyone, I just want to protect the others...he can't...he can't hurt my friends..."

"It's your decision, after all," the Other said. His red eyes never blinked. "Break the connection. Break it _now._"

The lock had scarcely been going on for two minutes, if that. Oliver had felt like he'd been holding on for days, and he'd never once considered that stopping it could be that simple. With a nod to his Other and a final look at Goyle, Oliver yanked his arms up, yanked his wand away from the golden light.

It was gone, just like that. He stumbled a few steps, as did Goyle, but Goyle recovered first. He raised his arm, intent on resuming the fight...but to his great shock, Katie's wand was no longer in his hand.

Staring in disbelief, Oliver watched his Other point Katie's wand and calmly say, _"Stupefy."_

It was an impressive stunner. As if he'd had to fuel it with his very being, the Other vanished the moment the red light left the wand, firing off before it fell to the ground. Hit in the sternum, Goyle literally flew backwards, crashing into the snow with little pizzazz. He didn't move.

His back and legs covered in blood, Oliver felt woozy. He didn't care about Goyle, didn't care about Jessica and Conner - now that they were safe, he could prioritize - and forced his feet to carry him, forced himself to move the few steps to where Katie's wand lay on the grass. He collapsed to the ground, not even feeling the snow biting at him, concerned only with the wand, thoughts of his red-eyed doppelganger entering his mind as he reached out and took it, his fingers too numb to feel the wood.

He didn't care. Satisfied, or at least _satiated,_ Oliver pulled it close, hugging it to his chest. He understood that, logically, feeling like he was now somehow complete made no sense, but he didn't care. He _couldn't_ care. All was well.

Clutching the wand like the rest of the world didn't exist, Oliver felt his eyes slide shut...and he couldn't have opened them even if he'd wanted to.


	20. Interval:04

**Oliver Wood and the Muggleborn's Wand  
**Chapter 20  
_Alhazred - ssjDOTalhazredATgmailDOTcom - alhazredDOTlivejournalDOTcom  
Not For Profit work. Harry Potter and related materials © J.K. Rowling._

The world felt like a dream. It felt like the dreams Oliver had every now and then involving his red-eyed doppelganger, and yet, it obviously wasn't a dream. He knew he hadn't gone to sleep, knew that he hadn't been knocked unconscious in the fight.

And yet, here he was, standing in a black void. There was a ground, and air, but he couldn't see the ground or anything else. Still, he was sure his eyes were open.

_I don't know what exactly's going on, but I have a pretty good hunch..._

Closing his eyes, even though he could see nothing, Oliver tried to make out more of the words. They sounded far away, on the other side of the world, and the speaker wasn't making any effort to be loud.

**But why won't he wake up?**

_He's still fighting...maybe for his life, I don't know, I don't have first-hand experience..._

That sounded strange...Oliver felt pretty awake. The voices must've been talking about someone else.

Everything was different when he opened his eyes. The empty nothing was gone, a lush forest in its place. The colors were brilliant, the green of the leaves on the trees, the sparkling water in a little brook nearby...it was the most vibrant thing Oliver had ever seen. He knew it couldn't have been real. Even the bark on the trees and the dirt on the ground seemed radiant.

The sun shone down from high above, bright enough to give everything a faint aura. Real or not, it was beautiful. Following the stream, Oliver soon looked up, over the tree line, and felt the awe return in full force.

It was a Quidditch pitch, one that put the Japanese national stadium to shame. The idea of playing a game here held an instant appeal; the swamps of Puddletown weren't the most pleasing of sights. They certainly didn't smell of fresh fruit and clean water like this place, either.

Picking his pace up into a jog, Oliver headed for a set of goal hoops, hoping to find the center. The foliage grew thicker, shading him from the sun, but it never became dark. The little babbling brook, Oliver realized, was running down the middle of the pitch. When he reached the center, it became intricate, splitting and forming the circle.

This was where the beauty ended. Nothing changed with the pitch, the trees were still normal, the grass and dirt still soft under Oliver's feet. Dead-center of the pitch, a single tree had a rope tied to one branch. A man hung from that rope, by his neck, and Oliver realized immediately that he was already dead.

Another detail soon became clear; it was Crabbe, as dead as the day Oliver had murdered him, his Death Eater robes hanging ignobly and billowing with the breeze. Blood dripped from the body, a slow trickle with no open wound to speak of, soaking into the ground below.

Oliver felt compelled to stare, compelled to stay right where he was instead of running for cover. He wanted the corpse dangling by a proverbial thread would speak and tell him the meaning of life.

"Doesn't really go with the scenery, does it?"

Crabbe wasn't the source of the voice. Turning to the side, Oliver saw his red-eyed self in one of the trees, hanging upside-down by his legs. He was still wearing his dark-red Quidditch robes, but he seemed almost casual, despite being around the hanged man.

He was casual despite being an unreal doppelganger, for that matter. Oliver wasn't entirely sure how to respond. "What?"

It made the Other chuckle as he curled up, reaching to the branch he hung from for leverage to pull himself over and off. He walked around the tree, fixing Oliver with a penetrating stare. "Crabbe, up there," he said, as if Oliver wouldn't recognize him, "He doesn't really fit here. Neither do I, I suppose. I guess that's the nature of the beast."

A question that Oliver realized he should've asked some time ago came to him. Why he never thought of it in his dreams, he didn't know. "Who are you?"

His other _laughed_ at him, a roaring, happy laugh. "Oliver, what are you, a First Year? Aren't you _looking_ at me, can't you tell?"

"But," Oliver stammered, trying to wrap his brain around the implication that it was just that simple, "You can't be me. I'm standing right here."

"Mostly," the Other added. "Mostly." As Oliver watched, his Other strolled by him, a bounce in his step as he passed, effortlessly climbing the tree that was home to Crabbe. He ascended in a circle, rounding the tree and coming back around next to Crabbe's body. Standing on a thick branch, he leaned against the trunk with his arms crossed, completely unbothered by what hung next to him. "So, here we are...I don't know what you'd call it. Purgatory, maybe? But you're not dead. You can't be dead while I'm around, after all...but I'm pretty sure that if you're here, it means you're thinking about," he cocked his head towards Crabbe, "That."

"I think about it all the time," Oliver said, knowing, immediately, that it wasn't true. He didn't know why he said it, knew that he thought of Katie less and less as the days turned into weeks and the weeks turned into months. It frightened him, that this could happen and he hadn't even noticed it. That he hadn't even realized he was starting to have trouble remembering what her face looked like until he looked at her picture.

Or what her voice sounded like. He couldn't look at a picture to remind himself what she sounded like.

"You're lying," the Other said. There wasn't any anger in his voice. He sounded sad.

Staring at him for a good, long while, Oliver took in every detail. He was looking at himself, a dead ringer for a mirror, almost. The eyes weren't the worst thing, especially now, as he looked up at Crabbe with every bit of emotion Oliver had not felt for murdering the man. "You would know."

"Took you awhile to realize that," Other smiled broadly at him. "Never thought I'd see you here, though. I almost want to be happy about it...it gets lonely here."

Other's head turned as he spoke the last few words. He looked back at Crabbe, and Oliver wondered if, maybe, he wasn't talking about the Quidditch pitch when he'd said 'it's beautiful.' As if cued, the sun went down over the stands, but the darkening sky wasn't nearly as realistic as it had been in the daylight. Bands of auroras danced overhead, and the stars weren't normal, but colorful, sometimes large, decorated with winding bands of cosmic dust with nebula that would never be clearly seen by the naked eye sprinkled about. The moon was enormous, taking up a quarter of the sky above the pitch stands.

It was still a gorgeous sight, and the pitch itself went through its own transition. Taking another look around, Oliver felt like he hadn't even been here five minutes ago. Bright moonlight danced over moist trees and grass, fireflies floated in and out of the woods...and in the end, Crabbe still hung from the center. "Why...why didn't you think I'd come here? You come to me in my dreams..."

"Because you're close to me," the Other answered, deadpan, bored with the question. He sounded like he'd figured it out long ago. "And that gets my attention. But it doesn't work the other way around, you're just here because of," he cocked his head towards Crabbe, "That."

Around a lump in his throat, Oliver said, "I...I don't understand..."

"Of course you do," snarling, Other walked over to him, his hands balled into fists and his muscles tense. He was clearly annoyed. "You're just too afraid to admit it! If you'd just stop lying to yourself and move on with your life, we'd _never_ be having this conversation!"

"I'm not lying to myself about anything!" Yelling back at him, Oliver refused to back down. He was done running from things that went bump in the night; if he couldn't do anything about it, the least he could do was _try._

"Oh, please. 'No, I just don't want him to hurt my friends'" the Other mocked him, "'I only thought of killing him because I was going to die too.' Do you have to be so stupidly pragmatic? Did you kill _him,_" he pointed over to Crabbe, "because you _had_ to, or because you _wanted_ to?"

_"I had to!"_ Oliver shouted, his hands raising as if it would make his point. His words came automatically. _"He killed Kate, I __**had**__ to!"_

Oliver's face was red, his hands shook uncontrollably. He'd been thinking this exact thing for months, at thirty seconds every day. Hearing the words being said, even from, perhaps _especially_ from his own mouth made them seem much more hollow. It made them seem much more _ridiculous_.

"You _wanted_ to," the Other said, his voice low. "It's not the end of the world to admit it, Oliver! You're not the only person who's ever given in to anger, you're not even the only person that night who murdered in the name of avenging a loved one!"

Trying to think of something to say, some magical tell-all response that would fix everything, Oliver fixed his double with the best glare he could manage. He stayed that way for ten seconds, then twenty...before thirty, the tears came, and soon after, his breathing grew ragged.

He backed up to the closest tree and collapsed against it, shaking hard from the pain as much as the tears. "I never would've...if I'd just been _thinking_ I never would've...would've k-killed him...I just...I h-hated him..._so...much..._right then..."

In stark contrast to the attitude he'd had during the shouting, Other sat down next to Oliver without any anger, and when he talked again, his voice was low, comforting. "You weren't thinking. It's okay."

Before he realized what he was doing, Oliver grabbed onto him, desperate for an anchor to reality despite not even being _in _reality at the moment. Some of the fireflies moving about the trees became blurred, solid lines through his tears, and he felt an arm rest tentatively across his shoulders. "What...what are you supposed to be? My conscience? Or my anger just...justifying what I did?"

Chuckling softly, the Other said, "Hardly. I've just got your best interests at heart, and carrying guilt around is like poison. Poison that I'm not immune from, either."

"Wait," Oliver scooted away from him, far enough away that the arm over his back went away, far enough to look at him. His tears stopped as thoughts began to form, as Oliver felt on the cusp of some grand revelation. "What?"

They were the same person. That much was obvious. And yet, they weren't exactly the same. The Other had red eyes, different clothes...and, Oliver realized, a different attitude. He didn't have the guilt like Oliver did. He wasn't traumatized by it, he didn't go over it in his head to figure out if he had an excuse for not doing anything differently...what could the guilt possibly do to him if, in purely literal terms, they were two separate 'people?'

The Other was a little surprised that Oliver would go down this train of thought. The answer seemed obvious to him. "Well...I can't very well worry about your best interests if I'm worrying about mine, can I?"

"Why does my guilt have anything to do with you?" He stood up, looking down at the Other and waiting for an answer. He didn't know what he was expecting, but whatever it was, he _knew_ it was important.

"Well," the Other didn't move to stand at all, "When you figure that out, I guess you'll know everything."

"Go away," Oliver told him. "Get out of my head!"

"Oliver," he finally stood up, slowly, his voice condescending, "This is _my_ home. _You_ came _here._

"Consider yourself _evicted,_" Oliver spat.

"Sorry," the Other smiled. "I _like_ it here."

Oliver never saw it coming. His double lunged forward, and Oliver grabbed at his stomach where the pain came from, where he felt something wet on his fingers, something wet over something cold and solid.

The sight wasn't pretty when he finally looked down. The combat knife was one he'd seen at _King's Guard Surplus,_ buried into his stomach almost to the hilt. The sudden urge to cough brought blood up his throat.

As he watched, Other twisted the knife. He wasn't slow, he made the motion in a quick jerk, and then did it again, turning the knife until the serrated edge pointed straight up. "This is what you want? You want to give me up, for _what?_ For _that?_" He pointed at Crabbe once more, and added, "Well, _too bad,_ Oliver! It's not that easy! Remorse takes _work!_"

Feeling himself being shoved against a tree, Oliver hacked up a mouthful of blood. One of his feet balanced at the edge of the little stream of water, it's bubbling very audible. "I..."

The knife came out, torn out in an upward motion to rip through more flesh before the Other jammed it right back in, near the original wound. Blood flowed from Oliver's abdomen, soaking his clothes and giving the water running underneath him a red tint. "_You_ chose this, Oliver! All you have to do is say the word and I'll stop, but you _can't,_ can you? No, you have to feel _bad_ for our sins. Don't think I want this, don't think I want to die because you can't help but be a do-gooder...but like I said before, it's _your_ decision, after all!"

Barely able to stay on his feet, certain that he wouldn't be if he weren't being shoved against a tree, Oliver managed to form words around the blood in his mouth. "And I..._decide_...to have...a...soul..."

This time, the motion with the knife was a slash, and more of a tearing rather than cutting, bisecting the stab wounds. The pain was so great that Oliver finally _noticed_ it, heard something wet hit the ground, but he didn't look.

His hands became heavy...but Oliver realized, only _one_ hand was weighted down. When he looked, he saw that his fingers were clutching the handle of a sword...a sword with a sparkling ruby in the hilt.

The Other was close to him, right on _top_ of him...Oliver could feel his breath, would've smelled it if not for the blood. And the knowledge of what he had to do came to him then, that proximity inspiring him. They were one person. Whatever else they were...different parts of the same person, an original with a faulty duplicate, or a clone made from the Dark Arts...wherever his Other came from, he was just as much Oliver Wood as the original. _Then neither of us can die, while the other survives..._

He had no doubts, no regrets about what he planned. He could see no other option; if this was the only way to repent, it was alright.

The Other didn't notice when he raised the sword up. He was so close, it came up _behind_ the double, where Oliver let the blade point down like a dagger. He reached around his Other with the empty hand and held on tight with both, raising the sword high and then bringing it down. The sword hit home with tremendous force, more than Oliver's fading strength or gravity could possibly account for.

After the tip passed cleanly through Other, it went through Oliver. It went through the tree, pinning them to it as much as to each other.

The job done, Oliver let his hands fall from the sword. He couldn't see his Other's face, but he heard the shock, felt him tense up, felt him let go of the knife. Other's head rested on Oliver's shoulder once he fell against him. "Oliver...I...I'm afraid..."

"Me too," Oliver whispered. The pain hit him; he had no more distractions, nothing more to accomplish. It was now his sole focus, and it hurt so badly that he saw spots, tried to inhale a sharp breath but choked on the blood in his mouth.

Through his fading vision, Oliver squinted his eyes and looked at the pitch. It was still beautiful, so vibrant and full of life. He saw Crabbe's body fall from the rope hanging him, saw him turn to dirt and become ground...he was glad his last sight could be one more look at this place, and, weakly raising one hand, he patted his Other on the back.

When everything went black, small lines of light stayed, remnants from focusing his eyes on the fireflies going about their business in the foliage.

Soon enough, that faded away.

* * *

"Oh my god..."

When Oliver started screaming, Jessica's first thought was dropping down to the ground and grabbing him to...she didn't know what she was going to do. Seeing him go from perfectly quiet and serene-looking to _this_ was more than shocking. One second, he'd been laying perfectly still with Katie's wand clutched to his chest, held protectively under both arms. And then...

The scream he let out was pained. His back arched, his eyes clenched shut tighter than before, and the _sound_ wasn't something ever meant to be heard by others, let alone by friends. It was the sound of torture, the sound of the Cruciatus Curse, perhaps the sound of a human being's final moments on Earth when the words 'avada kedavra' weren't involved.

"Don't touch him!"

Harry Potter went to the ground as well, but he followed his own advice, and he stayed still, watching intently. In the corner of his eye, distorted by the edge of his glasses, he saw Conner wrap his arms around Jessica from behind, and the look on his face suggested it wasn't for her so much as it was for himself.

It seemed to go on forever. Oliver didn't take another breath to keep screaming; as he faded, a thin trail of smoke blew out from the tip of Katie's wand. Regarding it curiously, Harry felt certain that he knew what was going on...and he wasn't surprised when a quick, bright flame engulfed the wand. It burned for only a second before flickering out, leaving behind a charred, brittle piece of bark that crumbled as Oliver's substantially large arms twitched about.

He was still after that, perfectly peaceful. "He looks like he's sleeping," Jessica choked.

Conner couldn't bring himself to ask the obvious question. "He's...he's not..."

It was Harry who checked, pulling at one of Oliver's arms until he had it straightened out, laying on the ground. Soot from what was once Katie's wand rubbed onto his fingers, and it rubbed onto Oliver's wrist when Harry checked for a pulse.

Unable to hold it in, Jessica started to cry, and Conner held her more tightly.

The look Harry gave them had said it all.


	21. Still Alive

**Oliver Wood and the Muggleborn's Wand  
**Chapter 21  
_Alhazred - ssjDOTalhazredATgmailDOTcom - alhazredDOTlivejournalDOTcom  
Not For Profit work. Harry Potter and related materials © J.K. Rowling._

Oliver didn't remember any dreams he may have had when he woke up, but he remembered a knife, and a sword. He jumped a little, only because he realized that the last place he remembered being was a place where he had more than one pointy object going through his skin.

Soon, the new surroundings registered to his senses, and he calmed down. He recognized the smell, the feel of the sheets he was laying on, the soft blanket over his legs. Someone nearby was snoring. He'd been here before; the most memorable time for a Bludger he took two minutes into a game.

Seeing the outline of his wand on the nightstand, he grabbed it and gave it a wave. His arm felt stiff, but not a scary kind of stiff. It was stiff just because he was lying in bed and hadn't moved for awhile. When the lights came on, Oliver's guess proved correct; he was lying in a bed at St. Mungo's.

A curtain divided the room into two, so it wasn't a private room, but he knew there was a silencing charm on that curtain. He could see darkness seeping in from around it. More importantly, the source of the snoring was someone he knew, and someone on his side of the room.

Harry Potter looked like he was going to wake up with a backache, from the way he was sleeping in his chair. Grateful for the company, but curious enough to override politeness, Oliver said, "Hey...hey, Potter."

Harry didn't stir. Letting out a sigh, Oliver's eyes rolled. Giving up for a moment, he glanced around again, and something colored caught his eye.

It was a piece of stationary, crudely folded so the corners didn't meet. His name and room number were scribbled on it. The color seemed familiar, but Oliver didn't place it until he opened it and saw the Tutshill Tornados emblem on the top.

_ Wood,  
Heal fast. Beating Puddlemere is pointless without you._

_Be seeing you,  
---Marcus_

Flint's bizarre tendency to be _friendly_ now was only offset by the "XOXOXO" scribbled at the bottom. Oliver snorted and tossed the paper to the side, but it didn't go to the floor; it didn't fly at all and landed on the bed, next to his leg. "God!"

Snorting, Harry twitched in his sleep and started sawing wood all over again. He was in very immediate danger of drooling on himself. Pointing his wand somewhat meekly, trying not to let thoughts of Flint hurt his brain, Oliver said, _"Reenervate."_

When Harry jerked awake, it was worse than when Oliver had. He almost fell off the chair. One hand went to his back as he groaned, the other wiping his mouth. "Oliver? You awake?"

"More awake than you," Oliver chuckled, slumping back into the mattress. He felt tired; moving around had brought way too much fatigue. "Waking you up for early morning practice used to be less trouble."

Fishing his glasses out of a pocket, Harry added, "Yeah, I'm getting too old for this...how're you feeling, though?"

"You have no idea," Oliver chuckled again. It was kind of funny, looking back on it. The ceiling intrigued him, with all the little pockmarks in the tiles. He saw them so clearly it was tempting to count them. Then again, the sheets were so soft that he wanted to curl up and go back to sleep. Just to take advantage of the linens. It hit him, then. Harry seemed perfectly normal. He wasn't staring at Oliver with wide eyes, wasn't yammering out questions. He sat back up. "Wait...why are you here?"

"I'm supposed to be questioning you," Harry said. "But I'm just...curious. And your friends couldn't be away from work any longer. I told them I'd keep an eye on you...speaking of which, was your Muggle phone in any of your pockets?"

Eyes going to the ceiling again, Oliver thought back...he'd had no need of his phone during the recent debacle. "It...should be in the jacket."

Getting up, Harry trotted over to the closet and fished through Oliver's clothes. Seeing this, Oliver realized he wasn't _wearing_ his clothes, and looked himself over. The standard-issue hospital gown was expected, but the bandages wrapped around one of his arms surprised him. It jogged his memory, and he recalled the spell he took in the arm.

"The healers said that would be fine," Harry said. Finding the phone, he turned towards the door. "I'll be right back...the hospital is like Hogwarts, electronics don't work inside..."

Letting out a sigh as Harry left, Oliver resigned himself to flopping back and staring at the ceiling again. It inspired him to look around the room and take everything in, and Oliver was a little surprised to notice that_everything_ was like the ceiling. Colors were vibrant, details stood out. The hospital bed that anyone else would consider hard and low-budget felt better than his bed at home.

When Harry came back, Oliver asked his question before he had both feet in the door. "Did they renovate this place?"

"Not that I know of." Stopping dead in his tracks, Harry looked at Oliver with every bit of curiosity he'd said he was here for. "Why?"

Thinking back to that imaginary Quidditch pitch, Oliver wondered if maybe, just maybe, he wasn't sitting here in St. Mungo's, talking to Harry Potter. There was something different about it here, though. Everything seemed more real, but there weren't subtle cues suggesting it _couldn't_ be real. "I just...feel like I haven't been noticing the world, like when the colors on a Muggle TV are set wrong, you know?"

"Like the world is more real," Harry said, like he was saying it to himself. He stared off into space, sitting back down.

It freaked Oliver out a little. "You...you know something I don't, don't you? You know why I've," he drawled off, wondering if it would at all be smart to finish the sentence with 'why I've been seeing myself.' At Harry's continued lack of response, Oliver wondered if maybe, just maybe, Harry had _seen_ his other in the cemetery. "Potter?"

"I," Harry paused for a long moment, "Have a pretty good idea. Can't be certain."

"I'll take an idea over the feeling I've been losing my mind since the war ended," Oliver told him.

He figured the look he gave Harry must've been a good one, because after a good staring contest, Harry consented. "I think...the world looks better because you're a whole person now."

Oliver may have been the consummate jock, but he was no fool. This just cinched it for him. Whispering, afraid the walls would hear, he said, "You saw him too."

It wasn't a question. Harry nodded his head. "More than a ghost...less than a person...most wizards have never seen anything they can describe like that. I've seen it twice, and I know it wasn't one of the things that can do it." Seeing Oliver's question coming, Harry added, "Because you weren't dead."

"Well, _that's_ a comfort." It led Oliver to the _next_ obvious question. "And the other time?"

"You're not a bad person," Harry answered him. "You know that, right?"

"Sometimes I wonder," Oliver said, honestly. "Six months ago, I never would've thought I could ever _hate_ anyone. I mean really..._really_ hate."

"And lately," Harry said. He wasn't asking a question, and he moved on, his voice barely a whisper. "Oliver...who did you murder?" When Oliver turned stiff, his lungs sucking in a long breath, Harry leaned back in his chair. He pulled something shiny from the inside of his robes and flashed it clearly. It was his Auror badge. "Nothing leaves this room. Promise."

He moved to set the badge down on the floor, dropping it instead of leaning over. The metal made an ignoble sound and then came to rest. Oliver became a little less tense, but no less apprehensive. "It was during the war," he blurted out, praying to be given the same vindication as any soldier who'd killed in combat. "During the battle. Just...just before the Dark Lord said he wanted you in the forest. It was the Death Eater that killed Kate," his voice began to falter, weighed down by shame, "I didn't have to. He wasn't armed. I _wanted_ him to die."

"When you murder someone," Harry said, "It tears your soul apart. There's nothing worse you can ever do to yourself. Especially someone like you."

The shame ever-growing, Oliver instinctively defended himself. "I'm not-!"

"I know," nodded Harry. "That's what I mean. You're a good person," he repeated, "You're a good person who had one moment of weakness. What happened to you...you didn't do it on purpose, I don't even need to ask that, even if you were inclined, I'd doubt you found the book with the spell..."

"What spell?" Oliver blinked. He could tell Harry was rambling, it was frighteningly obvious that when Harry had said he was curious, he meant that the entire thing had somehow hit him close to home. Unable to fathom why, Oliver could only hope for more of an explanation.

"Never mind," Harry shook his head, "It's not important...that piece of you couldn't cope and just went to the nearest place of comfort, and you loved her _that_ much, so..."

Desperately feeling the need to change the topic despite this information, Oliver said, "Is that...is that why he came out? Because he was in her wand the whole time?"

"It's as good an explanation as any," Harry shrugged. "You and Katie had wands with twin cores, yours started showing someone you'd killed, hers...well, hers wasn't exactly a normal wand anymore. To tell you the truth, I still had a little doubt if I was really making a good guess, until you woke up. You've been less than a whole person since that night...no wonder everything around you seems fresh and new."

It began to make a scary kind of sense. The sheer amount of pain he'd gone through...he'd done something so horrible that a part of himself had run away from it, not because he'd chose for it to run away, but in_terror._ That little piece of himself had been _happy_ to be somewhere else. He remembered torturing Jessica's ex-boyfriend, and couldn't blame himself for wanting to be elsewhere. The memory made him feel ill.

He had more pressing concerns to worry about, though. "Where's her wand?" At Harry's silence, he added, "Potter...what happened to Kate's wand?"

Harry's eyes turned down, and Oliver soon realized he wasn't looking at the floor. Following Harry's glance, Oliver looked down at his own arm, and at the small bit of magical bandage curling up from the bottom. He turned it over and peeled the bandage away, revealing a thin line of burnt skin underneath, pain stinging him now that he was aware of it. His other arm had a similar bandage.

"It burned into your chest, too," Harry said. "I'm sorry...I didn't know it would do something like that...one second you were holding it and the next," obviously fighting for words, Harry quickly added, "The Healers couldn't figure it out, they're going to turn into scars."

It seemed unreal, that Katie's wand was just _gone._ Feeling detached, Oliver wondered if actually seeing it happen would've made him more angry. As it was, he just couldn't believe it wasn't going to be there, sitting nicely on the bureau as always. He stared at his arms, wondering if maybe, just maybe, he wasn't hearing the whole story. "You didn't take it."

He didn't think Harry was lying, he really didn't. He just had to hear it, and Harry seemed to understand. "No, I didn't. I wouldn't. Something like that isn't for study. It shouldn't be allowed to exist, anywhere. I'm sorry it was something that meant so much to you."

"I thought I was going to die," Oliver said. "Twice. I thought he was going to kill me, and I thought I was going to kill _myself,_ and the funny thing is, the Killing Curse doesn't seem nearly as scary anymore."

"Well." Pausing, Harry eventually added, "Funny things can happen, when you're willing to die for love. Or friendship, or doing the right thing. Whatever you want to call it, it's all the same, really."

"Remorse takes work," Oliver said, blankly. He _knew_ he'd heard it somewhere before, he just couldn't remember where.

"Of course it does," Harry laughed. "Us Gryffindors always feel extra-guilty about everything. Trade-off for all the courage and whatnot."

There was a distracted tone to Harry's voice, and Oliver knew without much thought that he'd skirted something Harry didn't want to touch, as if the ability to feel remorse had been the deciding factor in everything. He couldn't stop his words, couldn't resist putting more effort into the idea. "You're _sure_ the wand's gone?"

Harry's voice was near to a monotone, and he continued to look as though he wasn't thinking about being in the room. "I must not tell lies..."

The door to the room opened, giving way to Jessica and Conner. Her apron was a dead giveaway that she'd been in a kitchen, and both of them were wearing visitor's badges like the Ministry of Magic used, identifying them as Muggles. Oliver very briefly wondered how they'd _gotten_ here, wondered if Potter had given them some Floo powder, but then again, there weren't any fireplaces in their flats...

Snatching his badge from the floor, Harry stood up and winced. The full effect of sleeping in an uncomfortable chair for lord knew how long was hitting him. Conner was the first one to say anything. "Ollie! Finally awake, sleepyhead!"

"What?" Oliver blinked.

Giving him the answer to his question, Jessica chuckled, "It's been two days, Oliver."

"Merlin," Oliver sighed, slumping back once more. "My parents are going to kill me. Please tell me no one's called my parents!"

"You just said they'd kill you for _not_ calling them!" Conner said.

"They'll kill me_ more_ if they find out I dueled a Death Eater in front of a church and ended up in the hospital," he groaned. "I've never been so glad to have my own health insurance through Puddlemere."

"Well, after the_ scare_ you gave us," Jessica said, "_We've _ half a mind to kill you!"

With Oliver shooting him a questioning look, Harry took off his glasses and wiped them clean with the bottom of his shirt. They didn't seem all that dirty to begin with. "Oh, my fault, that. When the wand burned up I tried to see if you were still alive."

"And," Oliver prodded, straining to hear the mumbling. He wondered why _he_ was the one getting death threats when Potter was the one who'd apparently goofed.

"And, I learned I know how to find a pulse about as well as I know any healing magic."

"Oh." Thinking that the answer had been anticlimactic, Oliver asked one last question. "How'd you find us, anyway?"

"You have clever friends," Harry put his glasses back on, pulling Oliver's phone from his pocket and tossing it to Jessica. "She found Percy's name on your speed-dial, Percy stuck his head through the fireplace in the common room, and naturally it was too good to pass up being a hero again." Taking an awkward glance around, Harry added, "Well, I have to get back to school before curfew, Filch isn't really impressed by an Auror badge, you know...get a hold of me if you need anything, alright?"

Nodding, Oliver knew that he was talking about needing help with inner demons. Yet, he had a funny feeling that he would be fine. "Oh, Potter! What about Goyle?"

"Azkaban," Harry answered. "He was so knocked out that he didn't wake up until after he'd been assigned a cell."

Nodding, Oliver watched him leave. He felt proud that a piece of his own soul could conjure a stunner so insanely effective.

Once Harry was gone, there was an awkward silence in the room. Oliver stared at Conner and Jessica, more than a little embarrassed to be looking up at them from a hospital bed. They stared right back, until Conner broke the ice. "Oh!" He reached into his pants pocket, pulling out a Muggle candy bar. "Harry said you'd appreciate this."

Eying the chocolate as though it were a bag of Galleons, Oliver forced himself to blink his eyes before taking it. He meant to be polite, but the urge was uncontrollable and he ended up snatching it clean out of Conner's hand.

The chocolate was slightly melted, but Oliver didn't care. He peeled at the wrapper the way he'd have peeled at a banana, careful not to go too fast. Half of it was gone in one bite, and he talked with his mouth full. _"Thank you."_

"Maybe you should slow down a little," Conner started, but Oliver had practically swallowed the candy bar whole at this point. "Never mind...don't blame me if you get a stomach ache, ay?"

Staring at the melted chocolate covering his fingers on one hand, Oliver reached for his wand with the other. "_Scourgify._ You know, it'll be worth it."

"We talked to the doctor on the way in," Jessica said. "He said you could leave, if you wanted. We just have to go grab a nurse to wheel you out."

"Oh, screw _that,_" Oliver's tone was, despite his words, utterly _gleeful._ He flung his blankets off, and only afterwards became accurately aware of the hospital gown he was still wearing. "Uh...grab my clothes for me, will you?"

He wasn't asking either of them specifically, but Jessica did it.

Oliver had his pants on in short order. His arms screaming the effort, the price of being immobile for two days. Once his sneakers were secure, he gladly threw the hospital gown off, intent on and pulling his T-shirt on just as quickly.

The look on his friends' faces gave him pause, and he looked down at himself, Harry's words ringing in his mind. _It burned into your chest, too._

It was bandaged like his arms, but Oliver could imagine the deformity. From the middle of his sternum, it ran straight down, cutting off at the naval. Nothing else seemed to exist; pulling his arms around himself, Oliver tried to match up the bandages on them with the ones on his chest, imagining how he must've been holding Katie's wand when it had gone up in flames.

"Oh," Conner broke his daydream, "Forgot." Pulling off his backpack, he held a strap with one hand and pulled the zipper open with the other. Reaching inside, he made a fair amount of noise ruffling through some things, finally coming out with a T-shirt folded into an imperfect square. The exposed side bore several letters from the name of a Muggle football team. "Here."

Taking it gingerly, Oliver stared at it in his hands before carefully unfolding it and slipping it on. The shirt was tight and he knew it must've been Conner's, that wasn't what bothered him. He felt like it would display the scar on his chest for all to see, and he didn't mind that, not really. He just didn't want anyone to ask about it. It was something that needed to be put behind, he knew Katie wouldn't want him to mope around and dwell on it. As if his exposed arms weren't bad enough...

Tight or not, the shirt chased away the chill in the room. He shrugged his jacket on without stopping. In the end, he was grateful for at least one thing; the lack of Muggle IV needles in St. Mungos. He wasn't sure he liked the idea of needles to begin with, but right now, he was glad that he didn't have anything to _fuss_ over.

Then again, maybe distraction would've been a nice thing to have. "Okay, then."

He tried to stand, and ended up leaning forward once he was on his feet. Legs numb, he heard joints crack, and felt his balance slowly ebb away, his arms flailing on reflex. "Woah!"

It was slow enough that Jessica and Conner tried to catch him. They did, ducking down, each flinging one of his arms over their shoulders. But it didn't help. Afforded one more moment of stability, Oliver soon lost even that and fell back to the bed. Conner and Jessica sat on it next to him on either side, his arms still uselessly around them.

"Well," Conner said, blandly, "I'll go see what's taking the nurse so long with that wheelchair, right?"

Wanting to protest, Oliver briefly entertained the idea of putting a body-bind curse on him. Still, he couldn't deny that his legs just didn't want to carry him around right now. He couldn't deny that, even once Conner was out the door, Jessica was still sitting next to him, and making no effort to remove his arm. Oliver didn't look at her, instead focusing on the old shirt he'd almost put on, still rumpled on the bed. He hadn't noticed it before, but even with it folded all over itself, the long hole running down the front, surrounded by burnt fabric...it seemed obvious.

"Oliver?"

"Huh?" Turning his head, Oliver realized that he'd briefly forgotten Jessica was there, again. He tightened his arm around her just slightly; she smelled faintly of bacon and eggs from being at work. "I..."

Conner chose that moment to come back, and Oliver figured that he hadn't done much to bring the nurse any faster, just sort-of followed her around. He seemed a little exasperated. She was an older woman, cheerful and fitting the stereotype of someone who enjoyed working at a hospital perfectly. Oliver flopped very unceremoniously into the wheelchair, heaved into it by Jessica and Conner, the task made much easier with the nurse's help. Cheery or not, she probably did this twenty times a day. Briefly, Oliver wondered if this had been the nurse to sponge-bath him while he'd been unconscious, before summarily condemning his mind for running off to places he really didn't want to think about.

Hoping he wasn't turning red, Oliver stared up at the ceiling as it rolled by, wondering if Katie could see him through the roof of St. Mungo's. For the first time, he thought of Katie watching him as something other than a ball and chain. His own wand sitting in his lap was a poor substitute for hers, but, _finally,_ it just didn't matter.

Once the receptionist was done with him, he tried to stand up again, and met with a little more success. The joints were still stiff, but the act of walking was slowly coming back to him. He looked forward to going home and getting some rest before getting back to practice with Puddlemere. There would certainly be other games to win, and he _did_ plan on winning, next time.

Briefly taking note of the Floo-linked fireplaces in the reception area, Oliver remembered that their flats didn't have fireplaces, let alone fireplaces linked to the network. A creeping realization came over him, and he blanched. "Oh, great...we'll have to take the Knight Bus."

---

The ride on the Knight Bus has not been any less unpleasant then last time, with the addition of Conner. In stark contrast to Jessica and Oliver, his very first words after getting off the bus on Woodland Road were, "Can we do that again?"

_"No,"_ Jessica said, glaring at him.

Oliver's reaction was much more subdued; he still couldn't walk fast, sitting down and_falling_ down on the bus hadn't helped this issue. He had to work to keep up with them on the pathway leading up to the front door. "I think I need to go back to the hospital."

Not skipping a beat, Jessica added, "I think **I** need to go back the hospital..."

He wasn't quite expecting the two of them to follow him into his flat, the flat that didn't have a locking charm on the door. He didn't put one on after going inside, either. What was Goyle going to do from Azkaban? Beyond Goyle, it seemed like the materiality of the place no longer had importance. He liked it, he enjoyed living here, but it was mostly a vehicle for getting sleep without his parents being around. Somehow, the wizarding world seemed less like a thing he wanted to keep distance from, anymore.

Naturally, it was a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ sitting on the table that grabbed his attention. It was piled on top of two older copies, and the window was wide open. The atmospheric charm he'd put on the place kept it at a nice comfy temprature despite the Winter weather outside, but Oliver wondered how many Obliviators the Ministry would send to deal with anyone who wanted to know why he had a window open for two days straight at this time of year.

The paper was worse, though. The portrait he'd had shot as part of Puddlemere's press package adorned the front page, the smile on his face, determined game-winning body language...it was all in stark contrast to the headline.

_**Quidditch Star A Hero Off The Pitch; Stops Death Eater From Harming Muggles.**_

"Hey, you're famous, Ollie!"

Conner's enthusiasm was something Oliver would've shared in under normal circumstances. How many wizards would or could actually stop an experienced Death Eater, even one so dim-witted as Goyle? Goyle's lightning curse was something Oliver had never even _heard_ of, and the Battle of Hogwarts had been a losing fight right up until the non-humans had dived into the fray.

No, Oliver lacked enthusiasm because this was the _Daily Prophet,_ and his parents were subscribers. "Someone at the hospital must've blabbed the story. I should call my parents and get it over with, maybe they haven't seen this yet."

In what was quite possibly the absolute worst coincidence to occur over the past several months, an owl flew through the window, and dropped a red envelope on the table.

"I'm never going to get used to the owl thing," Conner said.

Jessica started to talk, but Oliver beat her to it. "Well, so much for hoping they haven't seen it...that's a Howler. It's gonna scream at me..."

Even as the words left him, the Howler began to shake around, nearly shaking itself right off the table. Figuring it was better than letting the thing explode, Oliver leaned towards the table, and poked it open with his index finger.

Immediately, he shied away. His mother could be loud enough as it was, but his mother through a Howler...

_"Oliver Quercus Wood! What in the world is wrong with you taking on LEFTOVER DEATH EATERS! You could have at least called for help from the experts! LET THE AURORS DO THEIR JOBS! And let your parents know you've been in mortal peril BEFORE THEY HAVE TO READ IT IN THE NEWSPAPER! Turn on your Muggle phone THIS INSTANT AND CALL US RIGHT NOW DO YOU HEAR ME!"_

Teeth clenched, squinting at it with one eye and the other clenched closed, Oliver was happy when it was all over. The wording, though; he found it interesting. Apparently, Harry had left out any mention of Jessica and Conner in his report. Nothing about how Goyle had apparently been stalking him from a homeless shelter for months until he'd had the chance to grab a wand.

All in all, Oliver was pretty happy for that. He wanted his parents to know he'd been targeted as revenge for a murder about as much as he wanted Rita Skeeter to sit down with Conner and talk about what it was like being under the Imperious Curse.

When he turned back to his friends, he found Jessica pulling her fingers out of her ears and Conner staring at him blankly, as if the sound hadn't bothered him at all. Jessica, staring at the remains of the letter, said, "Your mother kind-of scares me..."

Half-wanting to crack a joke about how scary his mother was, Oliver waited for Conner to say something, and he was a little surprised when 'something' turned out to be, "Your middle name is 'Quercus?'"

"Oh, shut it," Oliver sighed. "My parents hate me. Apparently. As if _that_ just now wasn't a good indication! Merlin; I better call them and get it over with..."

It took _effort_ to sit down; Oliver's legs gave out at a certain point in the process, unable to hold his shifting weight, and he fell into one of the chairs awkwardly. Flipping his phone open, Oliver _remembered_ that he wasn't alone, and stared back up at his friends silently. He wasn't worried about them overhearing the conversation; they had, after all, _met_ his parents. He was concerned about being rude, more than anything.

Jessica solved this problem for him, though. "We'll come back," she said, nudging Conner towards the door. "Just take it easy, okay? I have to go back to work but I'll stop by when I'm off."

"Yeah, Ollie," he added, "Come get me if you start feeling funny, too..."

Apparently having more faith in the healers at St. Mungo's, Jessica shushed him in an attempt to keep Oliver's morale up, and Oliver chuckled as he watched them leave. When the door closed after them, he started dialing his parents' number, slowly and painfully. The speed-dial would've just brought on the yelling way too fast.

With the last number dialed in, he set his thumb on the "Call" button and...didn't press it. Looking up at the door, Oliver realized he was only finding additional ways of procrastinating, but he didn't care. He thought about the day he'd brought Jessica to Diagon Alley and given her his scarf, he thought about how utterly terrified he'd been before that when a maniac with a baseball bat had gotten bored.

He thought about leaving the hospital and feeling like Katie would never want him to make desicions based on the idea that she would dissaprove from beyond the grave. Thinking about how this feeling was still going strong, Oliver put his phone in his pocket, stood up, and left the flat.

He jogged to the front doors, even though it was a chore. By the time he was out the door, he was also out of breath, and used it to lean on. The cold air hitting his face didn't help. Feeling like he was going to pass out, he nevertheless took a deep breath and called out, "Jess!"

Halfway to her car, Jessica turned and, surprised, trotted back over to him. "Oliver, are you procrastinating?" she said.

Deciding he was just going to power through it, Oliver looked her square in the eyes, distracted by his breath coming out in clouds in front of his face. He felt foolish, the kind of foolish he often felt like as a schoolboy constantly surprised by the world around him. It made him smile a little when he asked, "You want to go see a movie sometime?"

Surprised, Jessica didn't say anything at first. Oliver added, "I mean, uh. I've never actually _been_ to one. I mean, I've seen some movies, just not at the cinema..."

She cut off his babbling long before he ran out of breath, her day clearly brightened by this turn of events. "I'd love to."

And that was it. There was no pain, no regret, no horsemen, no rain of fire, and no end of days. It was done. "Okay, I'll...call you."

"Okay." She smiled at him for a second, _just_ a second before turning to walk away again. There was an extra, excited beat to her step.

Turning around, Oliver felt weak in the legs, and not because of his two days in bed. He had to stop, had to lean back against the wall once he was back through the door for a moment, nearly sliding down it. Still, his fluttering heart and the great sense of anxiety weren't inspired by terror. If anything, Oliver was nearly euphoric. He barely realized the whisper in his ear was his own voice.

"I'm so glad I'm still alive."

* * *


	22. Epilogue: Several Months Later

**Oliver Wood and the Muggleborn's Wand  
**_Not For Profit work. Harry Potter and related materials © J.K. Rowling._

**  
**Epilogue: Several Months Later...

"There's our seats, right there."

Practically diving into the chair, Conner put his feet up on the guardrail in front of them and kicked back. They had nice seats, though the game had yet to begin. "I like knowing a pro-athlete. Great perks."

Not taking the seat next to him, Oliver, instead, approached the rail with Jessica. Hands together, they looked out over the Wimbourne Wasp's home pitch. It was brightly lit, a giant wasp buzzing around trailing a banner for the team. "I almost like not being in the game...almost."

"There's always next year," Jessica said. "For your team to win the league, I mean."

"I'll settle for at least coming closer than the Tornados," Oliver chuckled, a slight indignance in his voice. He wasn't going to admit it, but he'd been absolutely thrilled at Conner again wearing his Puddlemere United T-shirt. "Still haven't lived that down."

"Never_will,_ if I have anything to say about it, Wood."

Turning his head, Oliver was greeted by the sight of Marcus Flint leaning against the rail nearby, arms crossed. The idea of Flint being a_good_ Seeker was so rediculous that Oliver still hadn't really processed it. He was sure Flint was quite willing to _brag_ about it. "Flint."

The idea of inviting Flint to the game as an olive-branch was something Oliver hadn't done lightly. It was almost another way of competing with the man; he knew Flint had put their past squabbles behind them - and thensome - and Oliver didn't want to be the one who couldn't let go of a grudge.

He saw Flint's eyes drift downward, stopping on Oliver's hand, its fingers laced with Jessica's. The look on his face didn't change. He grinned, let out a sad little chuckle, and sat down next to Conner.

Watching Marcus introduce himself, and watching Conner look thrilled at meeting _another_ Quidditch player, Oliver rolled his eyes. Turning back to Jessica, he said, "How long d'you think it'll take them to get married?"

"I'd be more worried about them finding underage Tutshill groupies," she answered.

Looking back out over the pitch again, Oliver felt quite horrified at the mental images entering his mind. Jessica's comment was terrible; the idea of Marcus hitting on Conner was even worse. "Oh, I wouldn't worry about that."

Their hands coming apart when they sat down to Conner's other side, Oliver stretched an arm across Jessica's back. Feeling her lean over and do the same, Oliver slouched a little in contentment. "You know, I take it back...watching a game I'm not in isn't really that bad."

"Wasps versus the Arrows," Marcus said. "For the league cup, no less. Gonna be violent."

After taking a survey of the stands all around them, Jessica said, "It's not as loud as it was last time..."

By 'last time' she meant the first game of the season, and she was right. This was something Oliver wasn't, at all, dissapointed about. Being in the game with that much crazyness was an experience in and of itself; he didn't think he could possibly live up to that level of enthusiasm while a spectator. Besides, it was only less insane reletive to that particular game. It was still _insane,_ and with the rivalry between the teams competing for the cup, it was certain to get even _more_ insane when the game actually started. "Dark Lord's been gone for awhile now. Being rid of him doesn't add extra to anything anymore...strange how things can fade away so fast."

"That's a good thing, Wood." Marcus leaned forward to look at him around Conner. "Tell a Muggleborn who survived Registration that they should put in effort to remembering it."

"Didn't say it wasn't a good thing," Oliver made eye-contact with him. "Just said it was strange."

For a brief moment, Oliver thought Flint was baiting him, but his voice lacked bite. Bizarre as it was, they were actually _just_ having a conversation. Leaning back into his chair, Flint added, "Right."

"It's gonna be a great game," Oliver said. Looking up at the sky as the sunset turned it all sorts of colors, he moved his free hand and ran the thumb once down the middle of his chest. The long scar was easy to feel through his shirt, but it didn't feel like something_ wrong._ It was just _there_, and touching it was more of a habit. All was right with the world.

**End**

**--- **

* * *

_Thanks to..._

-Zach  
-Marty  
-Rachel  
-All of you who left feedback; in this fandom, twenty-chapter stories could easily go by completely unnoticed, and you made sure this one didn't.

I've organized some notes and thoughts in an entry on my blog for commentary; check my profile for the link.


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